


Though My Soul May Set in Darkness

by chekhovsgun



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chekhovsgun/pseuds/chekhovsgun
Summary: Heaven and Hell were never going to let them just get away with it, they're too prideful and vengeful for that. But if they can't kill their wayward angel and demon directly, what's the next best thing?Make them wish they were dead.





	1. Prologue

“You do realize we can’t let this stand.”

“It’s a mess but what choice do we have? It’s not like we can kill them.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t think we have to.”

“And what the heaven does _that_ mean?”

“It means, you buzzing little irritant, that I have an idea that will benefit the both of us and get things back on track. I just need a bit of help obtaining a few things from downstairs.”

“Well then, I’m all ears birdbrain. Wow me.”

* * *

Daylight had shifted long past the late afternoon gold and sunset reds and slipped into the velvet black of night. Neither noticed. 

The lack of weight on their shoulders, the absence of the need to check if they were being watched, it was dizzying.

The angel laughed and smiled with an ease that the demon had never seen. It looked good on him. 

“My dear please that is just – you mean to say that you got credit _every year_??”

“Well tha’s the beauty of it right? I get one self-righteous prick to push me into the ocean an’ then – an’ then BOOM! Every March of every year every drunken bastard doin’ Satan knows what gets me a gold star!”

Hard as he tried, Aziraphale couldn’t make his face form anything sterner than a wobbly frown as he tried not to laugh. This only succeeded in causing Crowley to burst out laughing which led to a feedback loop of both gasping for air.

“Oh angel,” Crowley chuckled and wiped the tears from his eyes. “You really should –“

The words died on the demon’s tongue as he turned and realized that the angel had placed his hand on top of Crowley’s resting on the table.

Crowley swallowed. “You uh – you sh – should um – I – th -“

They had been having such a nice time too. Now his ang – Aziraphale would realize he forgot himself and snatch his hand back like it was on fire. He would carry on like nothing happened and Crowley would spend the rest of the night overcompensating for the hurt.

“Crowley.”

The angel’s voice was so gentle it broke through his thought spiral and made Crowley’s teeth ache. He snapped his mouth shut and looked up to find Aziraphale gazing at him with something incredibly soft in his eyes. Something unfathomably earnest that he had never allowed Crowley to see. 

Aziraphale gently squeezed Crowley’s hand.

“Will you come back to the bookshop with me?”

* * *

“Huh. Smaller than I expected them to be.”

“Well it’s not like they’re used to cut anything big. Makes it easier to move when they’re travel size.”

“Fair point. And you got –“

“In the pot. Mind you don’t open it.”

“Yeah I’ll let you do the honors there short-fry.”

“Ok, you know what, I’m doing you the favor here alright? Enough with the insults.”

“Jeez calm down, what you can dish it but can’t take it?”

“Please. There’s creative and then there’s just mean. Aren’t you above all that?”

“Fine. Fine! Sorry.”

“Good. Apology excepted douchnozzle. Now, what’s next?”

“Fucking – just follow me.”

* * *

Aziraphale led Crowley by the hand as they exited the Ritz. 

“Heavens, what time is it? I hadn’t realized it had been so long.”

_Longer than you’d believe angel._

“Whats say we walk back through Berkley Square? We can catch a cab on the way or would you rather enjoy the night?”

_I’ll enjoy anything as long as you’re here._

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?” Crowley spasmed and stared wide-eyed at the angel. “Sorry what?”

Aziraphale chuckled and sighed in a way Crowley could almost call ‘fond’ if he didn’t know better.

“My dear I do believe your head’s lost somewhere in the clouds.”

Crowley squinted at him through his glasses. “When did you start that up?”

“Start what?”

“Calling me that.”

“My dear, I don’t know wha – “

“’My dear’. You keep saying that. What are you doing?”

Aziraphale looked taken aback before trying to cover with a cough as his cheeks turned pink. Crowley stared.

“I - I don’t know,” Aziraphale’s eyes suddenly widened and he took a step closer into Crowley’s space. “Did I offend you? Crowley I’m so sorry it wasn’t my intention.”

“No.”

“Sorry?”

“No you uh – you didn’t offend me.”

“Oh. Do you just not like it?”

“No it’s fine.”

“Oh! Well then. May I keep calling you that?”

Crowley tried to clear the frog in his throat. “That’s fine angel but…I just don’t get why.”

Aziraphale looked down at their hands and slowly shifted so their fingers intertwined. Crowley’s breath hitched and his glasses slipped down his nose, exposing his wide, golden-blown eyes.

“I’d imagine it’s for the same reason you call me ‘angel’.”

“…because that’s what you are?”

The angel’s answering smile made something in the demon turn molten.

“Exactly.”

* * *

“Wow.”

“See? What’d I tell you. Unguarded and all ours.”

“Don’t be smug, it makes you look bloated.”

“God I hate you. Ok, so! Next steps you’ll have to do exactly as I tell you, when I tell you. Nothing too complicated.”

“You mean nothing more complicated than joining forces –“

“Ok –“

“ – sneaking into the holiest and most locked part of Heaven – “

“I only meant – “

“ – and breaking a rule so old it predates the Satan-praised book it’s in?”

“Yes thank you I am well aware of how negative this seems. But you can’t argue it doesn’t benefit the great plan!”

“And it really is a great plan.”

“Isn’t it though?”

“I was being facetious; it’s a shit plan but I don’t have any others so let’s just do this.”

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley walked side by side, hand in hand, under the soft glow of the streetlights in companionable silence. Aziraphale slowly moved closer towards Crowley as they walked and leaned into his side, turning so he could rest his head on the demon’s shoulder and grip his arm with his free hand in a kind of side-hug.

Crowley immediately froze and took a shuddering breath. He felt Aziraphale stiffen next to him.

“Is this not alright?” The angel sounded so uncertain, almost frightened. Crowley immediately shook his head.

“No! I mean yes! It’s – I nghkd –“

“I’m sorry Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed and pulled away to look him in the eye. “I keep trying – I thought if I just _did_ things and – it sounds so silly out loud but – if I just did what felt right in the moment – now that it doesn’t matter – I mean no of _course_ it matters that’s not what I – oh this isn’t coming out right at all – “

“Angel hush,” Crowley reached out and cupped Aziraphale’s face with a shaking hand. Steeling himself, Crowley miracled his glasses into his back pocket so the angel could really see him.

“This has been…the best night of my life.” He could feel heat racing up his face and coloring his ears at the confession but he pressed on. “Everything about tonight, everything about you is more than alright. I’m just – it’s like when you’re freezing and then jump into a hot tub. It’s all tingly and it’s a lot but – but it’s good. It’s _really good_.”

Aziraphale leaned into the touch and put his hand over Crowley’s, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry I made you feel cold before.”

Crowley sighed and brushed his thumb over Aziraphale’s cheek. “We can apologize for the past until the sun burns out. Can we just…move forward?”

Aziraphale stared up at Crowley with a soft warmth that took root in the demon’s chest and bloomed. “I’d like that very much my dear.”

The angel leaned forward.

* * *

“Slowly…slowly…”

“Shut it! I’ve almost got it just give me a second.”

“If you place that even an electron to either side the results would be – “

“Done!”

“Done?”

“See for yourself.”

“Well I’ll be damned.”

“Hey now –“

“Sorry.”

“How do we know someone won’t come in here and remove it?”

“Angels are forbidden from this entire wing, no one will dare.”

“You dared.”

“And I’ll place security measures, don’t worry.”

“I can help with that too if you’d like?”

“That would be very helpful actually, thanks bug.”

“It’s been slightly less than awful working with you feathers.”

“Will you do the honors and start it up?”

“My pleazzzzure.”

_ **SNAP** _

* * *

The angel tripped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a VERY long time since I've greased this particular wheel so hello!! This is un-beta'd so apologies for any wonkiness and I'll be adding tags as I go. Kudos and comments are hugely appreciated! Hope you enjoy:)
> 
> PS: Formatting will be more traditional prose after this first chapter.


	2. What Must Be Said

It was the brief but sickening feeling of stepping off an unexpected curb and Aziraphale’s knees buckled. 

He blinked hard several times to clear the sudden burst of red lights that crackled across his vision. 

“ – ok? Azir – HEY!”

Aziraphale realized he was being jostled lightly and blinked up into concerned yellow eyes. Crowley was holding him firmly by the shoulders, steadying him.

“Pardon?”

Crowley’s brow furrowed. “Angel! You with me?”

“Of course – of course dear boy sorry I – goodness that was odd,” Aziraphale righted himself, grabbing onto Crowley for leverage only to wobble.

“Easy there. Make sure you didn’t sprain an ankle or anything right? We have to be extra careful with these corporations now. Doubt either of our head offices are likely to give us new ones.”

Crowley slowly let go of the angel, appraising him with worry.

“You look a bit peaky, you sure you’re alright?”

“Oh hush I’m fine,” he tutted. “No I – I must have wrong-footed on something – “ 

Aziraphale looked down to inspect if anything was on the ground he could have possibly tripped over. The movement only aided in causing the red lights to re-spark in his head. He gasped and reached out to Crowley on instinct. Crowley immediately filled Aziraphale’s space and wrapped one arm around his shoulders, one around his front with a hand pressed firmly on the angel’s chest.

“Woah steady! Easy, Aziraphale breathe.”

Shallow, pained breaths hissed out between clenched teeth. It was all he could manage until the lights slowly faded. Aziraphale groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Crowley was at a loss at what to do beyond rubbing Aziraphale’s shoulder and repeating soothing words, so he kept doing so until the angel moved to stand up from his doubled-over position.

“Slowly now, easy does it.”

Crowley brushed back a lock of blonde hair clinging to Aziraphale’s sweaty forehead and gently grabbed his chin to tilt the angel’s head this way and that, checking for any external damage.

Aziraphale smiled weakly. “Crowley hu – ”

“Don’t you hush me again angel, something’s clearly hurting you. Do you remember being hit on the head earlier? Or when you were in Hell did something happen that you didn’t tell me? You know what, actually – “

Aziraphale felt the brief pressure and pop of being displaced in space and with a blink he and Crowley were back in his bookshop. Crowley launched into making sure the doors were locked and the curtains drawn. He turned on the lights but dimmed them with a glare.

“Now really dear,” Aziraphale slowly lowered himself down onto his couch. “That was exceedingly careless and hardly necessary! What if a human had seen? Honestly we could’ve gotten a cab.”

Crowley glared over his shoulder but otherwise said nothing as he continued his checks before disappearing into the back of the shop. Aziraphale huffed in frustration and rubbed his temples. The flashes of pain were gone but there was an echo on the fringes, like something scratching at the edges of his mind promising to break in. Sudden movement and loud clinking jolted him from his thoughts as Crowley dropped a tray down on the side table with a tea pot, mugs, and hastily assembled biscuits that Aziraphale was sure he didn’t own. 

“Alright we’ll get you sorted. Here,” the demon all but shoved a steaming mug of tea into Aziraphale’s hands. It was the perfect heat, hot enough to seep into his hands and warm his chest as he cradled it but not hot enough to scald. Aziraphale sipped cautiously. It tasted perfect.

The angel stared down at his bespoke tea in his favorite angel wing mug and felt the pinprick of tears. He quietly sniffed and tried to discreetly wipe his eyes with his sleeve. A hand on his knee drew his attention to where Crowley knelt, sans sunglasses, looking up at him with such concern it made Aziraphale’s heart ache.

“Did I get it wrong?”

Aziraphale huffed a laugh and shook his head, sniffing again.

“Aziraphale?”

“You are so good to me Crowley,” he whispered, staring resolutely at his tea. “You’ve always been and I – I have been nowhere near as courteous to you.”

“It’s not _courtesy_,” Crowley frowned.

“No, I know! I know. I only mean –,“ Aziraphale took a deep breath, “you are so important to me and – and I’ve let other things get in the way of showing you that. Duty. Fear. What have you it doesn’t matter, I was wrong. And I – I said such unkind things to you. Untrue things. I am so sorry.”

“Hey no no no none of that,” Crowley shifted to his knees and snatched the mug away so he could hold Aziraphale’s hands. “What did I say? We can say sorry for what’s done until the bloody sun blinks out and all of us along with it. What’s the point?”

“The point is to _say_ it Crowley! For you to know. To know that I don’t think that. I never thought that. That you were – in _any_ way less than me.”

Crowley opened his mouth only to snap it shut again. He swallowed thickly. Aziraphale brought their intertwined hands up and brushed his lips over Crowley’s knuckles, earning a low whine from the demon.

“You are _everything_, my dear.”

Crowley’s eyes lingered on Aziraphale’s lips. The angel found himself noticing how cool Crowley’s skin felt against his, much cooler than he remembered. It felt soothing, like a cold compress on a fevered brow. Aziraphale separated their hands and guided Crowley’s to either side of his face, nuzzling into the demon’s cooling palms with a sigh of relief. 

“Angel…” Crowley whispered, unable to do anything but wonder at Aziraphale welcoming the contact.

Aziraphale’s pupils were blown wide as he slowly reached for the lapels of Crowley’s jacket, then firmly pulled him forward and gently brushed his lips against the demon’s. It was chaste and sweet until Aziraphale’s fingers twisted into his jacket and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. He opened his mouth and Crowley immediately responded in kind, neither thinking twice about the faint taste of smoke.

* * *

“How did you get this number?”

“Found it on his phone. He left it to me.”

“I see. Well that was foolish of him.”

“I’m not lookin’ to be mates or nothin’. Just – just tell me if you felt it up there?”

“…I did.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Millennia.”

“Was it your lot?”

“There are strict rules about this sort of thing. It’s more or less expressly forbidden.”

“How can something be more or less and expressly?”

“It just is! Why am I even talking to you?”

“Things are different now though. Got folks breakin’ rules left and right.”

“Your point?”

“Jus’ sayin. Maybe make sure all your tin soldiers are in a row.”

With an angry huff Michael ended the call and quickly snapped the phone in half. She’d need a new one that didn’t have a direct line to hell anyway. As she went to throw the pieces into the bin, a cream-colored envelope with shimmering gold calligraphy appeared in her inbox. Michael’s eyes went wide and her fingers lightly traced the lettering before she tore it open. She read the memo. Then she read it three more times. Michael slowly sat back with an odd feeling sitting uncomfortably in her chest that would register with any human as sadness. The archangel quickly dismissed the sensation as shock. It had, after all, been millennia since the Word had been spoken, or written in this case.

Michael destroyed the letter and envelope with a thought and took an unneeded fortifying breath. 

“And so it shall be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look my motto is fluff first. ALWAYS fluff first. It makes things hurt more later:)
> 
> In terms of updating, I'm hoping to do 1-2 chapters a week. Honestly just depends on life, y'all know how it is.


	3. Harsh Light of Day

A stream of light shone through a space in the curtains and onto Crowley’s sleeping face. He groaned and turned his head to bury it further into the softness beneath him. The softness also groaned and shifted, an arm wrapping around Crowley and pulling him closer. Crowley’s eyes fluttered open and he found himself lying on top of a fully prone Aziraphale on the sofa. The angel lay on his back with one arm bent to cushion his head and the other wrapped around Crowley and hugging him close to his chest. They had spent the night kissing and cuddling, reassuring themselves that they were truly with the other with soft touches before giving into exhaustion. Crowley smiled into Aziraphale’s jacket and breathed in the angel’s sent of old books and orange blossoms. He felt a hum beneath him and Aziraphale’s hand moved up to brush through Crowley’s hair.

“Good morning dear,” the angel’s voice was still thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” Crowley rest his chin on Aziraphale’s chest to look at him. “Didn’t realize we’d fallen asleep.”

“Well yesterday was rather a long day. We deserve a little rest.”

“But you never sleep,” Crowley raised a brow.

“Yes well – seems I needed it.”

“Are you feeling any better?”

“I think so – yes thank you. I tell you, it was the most peculiar thing.” Aziraphale continued to play with Crowley’s hair. “I wonder if it was like those migraines that humans get. You know, when they sometimes see colors or what have you and they get a splitting headache? But then they’re right as rain a bit later.”

“You’re not human though.”

“Yes I know that dear thank you, but the angelic equivalent then! I’ve read they can be caused by being over-stressed and I think it’s fair to say I’ve had my fair share over the past week.”

Crowley grunted. “Eh that makes sense. Not up on my angel physiology but then again body-swapping wasn’t in my repertoire until yesterday so what the heaven do I know?”

“Good, now we can move on from that unpleasantness.”

“Oh I wouldn’t say it was all unpleasant,” Crowley grinned crookedly and slunk up Aziraphale’s body. “Led to some quite pleasant moments last night.”

Aziraphale blushed. “That was rather forward of me, wasn’t it?”

Crowley smiled into a kiss and felt Aziraphale melt beneath him. The demon pulled back and chuckled at the angel’s wonderstruck face.

“Does it always feel like that? When humans kiss?” 

“Nah, think that’s just us angel,” Crowley leaned down to more thoroughly kiss Aziraphale but pulled back at the angel’s pinched expression.

“You alright?”

“Fine, it’s fine. My silly old legs are asleep.”

Crowley snorted. “Fair enough.” He kissed Aziraphale on the forehead and started to push up off of him.

“No please don’t,” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and pulled him back down, shocking a laugh out of the demon.

“Angel! Come on I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No it’s better with you here,” Aziraphale cuddled into Crowley’s body. Holding the demon close to him felt like a cool breeze on a hot day to the angel, it was intoxicating. He nuzzled into Crowley’s hair and wrapped his legs around his body.

“Aziraphale what has gotten into you!” Crowley mockingly scolded and play fought like he was trying to wriggle away. 

“Nuh uh. You’re mine,” he breathed the words onto the nape of Crowley’s neck, making him shudder. Aziraphale started to brush kisses up towards Crowley’s jawline when the demon stilled. He lifted a hand and reached backwards to cup Aziraphale’s cheek. The angel let out an involuntary groan and leaned in.

“Let me up.” Crowley’s voice was firm enough that Aziraphale immediately lifted his arms and allowed the demon to clamber up to standing. The sun beam had shifted and now lay across Aziraphale. The sharp relief of the morning light made it very easy for Crowley to see the pallor of the angel’s usually rosy face.

“What?” Aziraphale frowned and sat up, clasping his hands together.

“You lied! You said you were alright!”

“I am! Crowley, I’m right as rain I don’t know – “

“You’re absolutely burning up! You’re pale as a ghost!”

Aziraphale scoffed and started to push himself up. “You’re being ridiculous ghosts aren’t re – “ 

As soon as his legs were under him, Aziraphale felt a sudden wave of nausea and vomited on the floor as Crowley stood rigid in shock. The red lights streaked across his eyes. Aziraphale cradled his head in his hands and collapsed onto the sofa. He pressed into his closed eyes with the heels of his hands and made such a wretched sound of discomfort that Crowley was jolted from his horror.

Crowley miracled away the vomit and summoned a warm washcloth. He sat carefully next to the angel who was swallowing reflexively and breathing sharply through his nose. He rubbed his back and waited for the angel to regain control, but as the minutes ticked by and it didn’t happen, Crowley took a deep breath to calm his nerves and leaned in. 

“Angel? Darling it’s ok. Come here let me see you."

He ever so gently reached over and tilted Aziraphale’s head up and out of his hands to start wiping away the sick. Aziraphale took a shaky breath and looked at Crowley with a desperately sad and confused expression.

“I really did think I was fine you know.”

“I gathered.”

“Crowley…I don’t like this.”

The demon swallowed back the panic and nodded. “I know.”

“I’ve – I’ve never ever felt this – we lived through the plague! I’m over 6000 years old and I’ve never – What _is_ this?”

“I don’t know but angel, darling, we’ll figure this out ok? We always do.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, squeezing his eyes shut again.

Crowley miracled away the washcloth and held Aziraphale’s head to rub his temples. Aziraphale let out a long, slow breath.

“That feels heavenly.”

“This helps?”

“Oh yes.”

They stayed like that for a moment, saying nothing. Aziraphale’s breaths evened out and Crowley wrestled down the fearful and anxious thing inside him to deal with later. Right now the focus was on Aziraphale.

“You know it’s odd,” Aziraphale opened his eyes to contemplate Crowley. “I’ve never noticed how cold you ran before now.”

“What, the snake thing didn’t key you in?” Crowley’s lips quirked up despite himself.

“No of course I knew that! I only meant, well I don’t know what I meant. I just never felt it before.”

“Well you’ve got a heaven of a fever angel no wonder you notice,” Crowley worried his lower lip. “Hey I’ve got an idea. It’s been a long time but – I mean you know I’d never hurt you right?”

Aziraphale felt well enough to look affronted. “Crowley how dare you of course I do! What kind of a question is that?”

The truth of those words and the belief behind them burned through Crowley in a way he was unequipped to deal with at the moment. So instead of answering he stretched. And stretched. And slowly shifted into his massive red-bellied snake form that Aziraphale hadn’t seen since Eden.

The angel gaped at the monstrous snake, it’s head nearly as large as his own, it’s body as thick as a small tree and nearly 30 feet long. The snake shook its head and full-body shivered before looking down at Aziraphale.

“Good lord you’re beautiful.”

Crowley jolted back slightly and twisted in a way one could call shy.

“My dear, genuinely, did I not say as much the last time I saw you like this? Because I should have. And will continually from now on! You gorgeous thing, why don’t you look like this more often?” Aziraphale was enraptured, sickness all but forgotten, and reached out to pet the part of Crowley he could reach.

Crowley relaxed downwards so he and Aziraphale were at eyelevel. Aziraphale held out his hands and Crowley placed the full weight of his head in them.

“Didn’t wanna ssssscare you.”

“You could never.”

“Did the firsssst time.”

“Startled is different than scared. And I want you to feel comfortable being who you are around me. All that you are.” He scratched under Crowley’s chin and the snake wriggled slightly in delight.

The fingers under his head abruptly tensed and Crowley saw the pinched look that he now knew proceeded Aziraphale’s pain. 

“Here. Let me do thisssss. Lie back down.”

Aziraphale did as he was told as Crowley slithered up onto the sofa and slowly wrapped himself around the angel. He slid up and under Aziraphale’s shirt, making him shiver, before curling around his neck and resting his head on the angel’s forehead.

“How’ssss that?”

The angel sighed in response.

“Well that’sss good.”

Aziraphale’s breathing was already evening and slowing down, his corporation exhausted from the unaccustomed strain.

“It’sss ok angel you ressst. We’ll get you cooled down and – and we’ll figure thisss out. We’ll fix thisss.”

Crowley nodded to himself and took in the sick angel who trusted him so utterly he let Crowley hold him like any snake would hold their prey. He hissed with emotion he didn’t know how to name.

“I’ll fix thisss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snake Crowley! I love snake Crowley very much, in any and all sizes. But I haven't seen a ton of fic with him as a big!snake so here we are!
> 
> Thank you so much for your support so far, including your lovely comments. Please keep them coming they honestly make my day.


	4. Resolve

It was still light out when Aziraphale returned to consciousness. He blinked through bleary eyes and tried to orient himself. Groaning, he pulled himself up to sitting and grimaced at the unpleasant taste in his mouth – like he had eaten burnt toast. 

“Crow –“ Hacking coughs ripped through his chest. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat to try again.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale wheezed, voice thin from disuse.

The only sound to greet him was the ticking of a clock and the ambient traffic outside. Aziraphale took a shaky breath and clambered to standing. He grimaced through the onslaught of sparks in his eyes and swallowed back the noise of pain. When it faded, the angel sighed and moved to pull his waistcoat down, only to realize he wasn’t wearing one. At some point, he had been put into his softest periwinkle blue pajamas, complete with nightcap. Aziraphale smiled soft as he rubbed the soft fabric of the sleeve between his fingers. 

“Oh you sweet thing,” Aziraphale sighed with overwhelming fondness as he saw his pink bunny slippers sat at his feet. He slipped them on and slowly, on unsteady legs, wandered through his shop.

For the most part, everything seemed as it was before he fell asleep. Aziraphale squinted at the dust floating in the sunbeams and sniffed in distaste. He always maintained that cluttered and cozy was a far cry from dirty, and Aziraphale always took care of his place and things. That was the only way his earthly possessions lasted as long as they did.

His searching gaze caught on a vase full of drooping lilies on his desk. With a surprised coo, Aziraphale shuffled across the room and found a card alongside with his name written in the scratchy penmanship he knew so well. The angel glanced around, as if Crowley would come around a corner or slither up from under something just in time to look embarrassed and mutter something to make light of the gesture. When no demon appeared, Aziraphale placed his reading glasses on and opened the letter.

_Hey angel._

_Don’t know when you’ll read this. Might not even have to, you might still be asleep when I get back. But figured I should put this out just in case._

_If you did wake up and I’m not there, I’m really sorry but I couldn’t just sit and do nothing anymore. By the time I left, you’d been asleep for nearly two months and before you say anything, yes I did try to wake you. Tried everything short of slapping you if I’m being honest._

_So I left to go get some help. Not telling you where otherwise you’d try and follow. You need to stay home and rest, don’t argue. I left my mobile number on the bottom here just in case you forgot it and you need anything. Hopefully I’ll be home soon._

_Stay inside, rest, try and eat and drink something. I know you don’t technically need to but it’ll make you feel better._

_X Crowley_

_PS: Your slippers are horrifying._

The letter slipped from Aziraphale’s fingers and he listed to the side, leaning on the desk for support. Two months. At the time of the letter anyway. _Two months_. How long had it been since _then_? Aziraphale didn’t have a mobile, or a computer, and he didn’t think it was a good idea to race out into the street in pajamas and ask what the date was. 

Crowley, that darling demon, had watched over him without a second thought. How long had he remained wrapped around Aziraphale to keep him comfortable? When had the worry become too much? Aziraphale shuddered to think of how he would’ve handled it all, if their positions had been switched. He scrubbed his face with a clammy hand and felt his resolve solidify.

He wouldn’t bother Crowley, he was probably busy enough as it was. At least not until he found something helpful. Aziraphale stood up a bit straighter and forced himself, despite the ache behind his eyes and the spike of nausea in his gut, to go the kitchen and put the kettle on.

He would have a cup of tea. Maybe a sandwich. And he would dig through whatever texts he could find that could possibly shed a light on what was wrong with him. 

Determination shone in Aziraphale’s eyes as he got to work, fingers skimming over ancient ink and mind working hard to break through lingering fog to translate the words. He turned the page of a particularly old leather-bound tomb and noticed his fingertips stained black.

“For the love of –“ Aziraphale huffed. Served him right for forgetting to wear his gloves. 

He checked to ensure the words were in tact on the parchment and sighed with relief to see there was no damage done. The angel absentmindedly wiped his hands on his pajama pants and smacked his lips in disgust at the lingering taste of burnt something. He was so engrossed in his work that Aziraphale didn’t notice that the ink on his fingertips didn’t rub off on the fabric. That it wasn’t ink at all. And that it was ever so slowly spreading up his fingers.

* * *

After the first week or so when it became clear that Aziraphale wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, Crowley had done a lot of pacing. Followed by a lot of throwing things, then miracling said things back together. He had tried to look for a book that might help, but Crowley quickly found that his knowledge of ancient languages was severely lacking. This led to more throwing things.

Crowley barely left Aziraphale’s side. He made sure to make the angel comfortable, but he was at a loss as to what to do beyond that. Aziraphale continued to burn far too hot and every small noise of pain he made pierced right through Crowley’s heart. For a while Crowley tried to spend as much of his time asleep in snake form as possible, but soon realized he was far too worried to sleep longer than a few hours at a time.

His anxiety was a living, twisting thing. A furious dragon that clawed at Crowley’s gut and made him feel sick. He was able to keep it at bay most of the time, but by the end of month two control kept slipping through his fingers. It was finally too much and Crowley punched a hole in the wall.

“Ah _fuck this_,” Crowley hissed. He quickly fixed the wall and summoned some fresh flowers from across the street. With a shakily written note sat on the desk, Crowley snapped his shades on and surveyed the shop. He placed a few wards against unwanted ethereal or occult guests before stalking over to Aziraphale’s side and caressing his cheek.

“Sorry to leave angel, but I said I’d fix this and I will.” He brushed a soft kiss to the angel’s forehead and strode out the door.

Considering how long Crowley had been on earth, the actual network of humans he could go to for information was incredibly small. For the last few decades it had mostly consisted of the Witchfinder Army, which he recently learned mostly consisted of Shadwell. 

As to not repeat the mistake, Crowley sped off away from London and towards the only place he knew of with a competent human with experience with the supernatural. An hour later he was in Lower Tadfield. The village looked the same as it always had: idyllic in every way. It set Crowley’s teeth on edge a bit as he tried to remember which house belonged to the witch. 

Meanwhile, said witch was deep into writing on an old typewriter Newt had gotten for her as a gift. And incentive to nudge her into writing her own book, a desire she had confessed to him one evening as they sat on a hill and watched the sun set. Anathema was jolted out of her thoughts by a series of loud bangs on her door that shook the entire house. She ran to wrench the door open to find Crowley, mid knock, looking strung-out and exhausted.

“Oh my god,” she breathed.

“Not really no. Got a mo?” 

Anathema felt a thrill of fear followed by instant guilt at the reaction. She nervously took her glasses off and fiddled with them. “Um…yeah. Yes! Sure yes.”

Crowley went to step over the entryway but Anathema quickly held up a hand and pointed up at the horseshoe over the door.

“Ah. Right. Well um, outside then?” Crowley gestured to the bench in the front yard. 

Anathema let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and nodded, relieved to not have this meeting behind closed doors. Crowley, trying not to take the negative emotions she was emitting personally, put on his best friendly smile and moved aside to let her lead the way.

“So! How have you been since –“ Anathema continued to play nervously with her glasses as she sat. Crowley made sure there was space between them when he joined her.

“Fine.”

“Yeah good. Me too.” Anathema nodded at the grass in front of her.

The unease was rolling of her in waves and made Crowley grimace.

“Look I’m not – you got nothing to worry about. I’m not gonna hurt you. I don’t do that.”

Anathema’s eyes widened in surprise as she turned to look at him fully. Her gaze swept over him, eyes catching on the space behind his back. “You’re telling the truth.”

Crowley nodded and turned his body towards her. “I need your help.”

“Me? What could you possibly need _my_ help with? Where’s the uh…the other one? That you were with before. Surely he can help much better than I ever could.”

Crowley swallowed and looked upwards at the birds passing overhead. He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding together. The tears he had yet to shed threated to spill but he willed them away with a hiss.

“There’s something…._wrong_…with him. He’s sick or – or being hurt or something. And I need to – I don’t know what to do.”

Anathema squinted at him like he was an especially challenging puzzle. She shifted closer and put a hand on his shoulder. Crowley looked back down at her, thankful for the shades that hid his shimmering eyes.

“_I don’t know what to do_,” he whispered.

Anathema’s expression cleared and she withdrew her hand to place over her heart as she looked at the space above Crowley’s head in awe.

“You love him.”

Crowley said nothing and sat as ridged as a statue, his fists clenched so tight crescents of blood welled up on his palms. It felt like being judged, being looked at like that, and he’d had enough of that for one lifetime. But as he was about to say something, Anathema stood and brushed out her skirt.

“Well then. You’d better tell me everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last of what I'll call the "lead up" chapters, next up we'll start getting into wtf is going on! Hope you're all enjoying it so far. Thank you for all the comments and kudos, please keep em comin!


	5. Guidance

Anathema drummed her fingers against the side of her mug and watched the demon in her kitchen pace back and forth. Once she had fully gotten a look at his aura, she knew there was no need to be scared of him and promptly invited Crowley inside, pulling the horseshoe off the doorframe on her way in. He had gone directly into telling her all about what had happened after the near end of the world. How he and the angel – Aziraphale – had swapped bodies to trick Heaven and Hell into leaving them alone, how they had gone out to celebrate when they returned to Earth. And how Aziraphale had suddenly taken ill. 

Throughout his monologuing Crowley had put her kettle on and made tea, shoving a mug in her face, without seeming to realize what he was doing. Anathema smiled, it seemed like a habit he’d gotten into when he was upset. Or when someone else was. She couldn’t help the swoop of wonder she felt, watching this demon talk about an angel with such obvious affection and worry. Long arms flailing this way and that and expressive face making his emotions known despite the glasses covering his eyes.

“I got something on my face, witch?” 

Anathema blinked when she realized Crowley had gone still, leaning against her counter and looking at her in moderate irritation. She tried to school her smile into something neutral.

“Sorry. Just…taking it all in. It really is quite the story. And it’s Anathema by the way, not ‘witch’.”

Crowley grunted in reply and crossed his arms.

“Fine. Anathema. So what do you think?”

She clicked her tongue and sat back in her chair. “Well firstly, I think you waited far too long to seek help – “

“What – it wasn’t that long – “

“Two months?!”

“Is nothing! I slept through the better part of a century once and I wasn’t even that tired! I figured – he just – sick people need to sleep.”

The last bit had sounded more like a question than a statement. Anathema sighed and pushed her glasses up into her hair.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend that I have more knowledge about the circadian rhythms of angels and demons than you do. I only meant that must’ve been incredibly stressful for you. These kind of things, when accidents or sicknesses happen, you’re supposed to reach out to people.”

Crowley frowned. “I don’t have people. Just Aziraphale.”

“That’s very sad.”

“I mean – y – _you_ try getting through 6000 years where – where nearly every other living thing blinks in and out in an instant. Every being but the ones you can't stand and the one – the _one_ – that makes it all worth a damn.”

Anathema nodded, then chuckled softly and shook her head.

“What?”

“You are…really something Mr. Crowley.” She felt that wonder again, her gaze flitting around his edges. “You’re a demon, through and through. But you’re also kind. You feel love. The fact that you even care about anything is remarkable.”

The glare Crowley leveled at her would have been chilling, had it not been for the pink flush in his cheeks. “Don’t presume to know me.”

“Alright, alright,” Anathema huffed. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

Crowley crossed his arms to look at her expectantly. “And what else?”

The witch grabbed her glasses off her head again so she could fiddle with them as she thought aloud. “Well he’s an ethereal being, so human sickness probably wouldn’t harm him if it hasn’t so far. Although you said you’re both in human bodies right? Or approximations at least.”

She squinted up at him. “Can you take your glasses off please?”

Crowley reared back and lifted his hand up to his shades reflexively. “_Why_?”

“I just need to check something.”

He stared at her and she simply stared back until his shoulders slumped just enough for her to notice.

“Fine, not sure how this is relevant…” he grumbled. Crowley pulled the shades off with a flourish and made pointed eye contact with the witch, expecting her to gasp or at the very least shiver. Instead, Anathema just tilted her head with interest and nodded like she had confirmed something.

“Do all demons have eyes like that?”

“No not really,” Crowley quickly slipped his shades back on. “Other demons have non-human eyes but I’m the only one who has these ones.”

Anathema heard the thinly veiled disgust in his voice and felt a spike of compassion.

“So you didn’t choose them.”

“Psh what was your first clue?” His voice was bitter but without bite. “No I didn’t choose it. None of us chose it. We’re all given standard issue and once you slip it on it just – becomes you. Part of the whole demon deal is what you are can’t help but leak out a bit.”

“To what purpose? As intimidation?”

Crowley leveled a look at Anathema.

“As punishment.”

* * *

Aziraphale pulled at his collar in a desperate attempt to ease the heat he felt coursing through his body. It was making it difficult to breathe, much less focus on his task. He had a commendable stack of books he had managed to get through, but there was still a not-insignificant number that remained unread. The angel had managed to find nothing of use so far and with every unhelpful book he went through the gnawing pit in his stomach grew wider and wider.

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._ Something inside him lurched in a tattoo alongside the fierce banging of his heart. It seemed like it was trying to out race the heat under his skin. He wiped a sleeve across his brow, almost glaring at the text in front of him, making himself work harder.

The words fuzzed in and out of focus. Aziraphale shook his head then groaned at the spike of pain behind his eyes. He grit his teeth. He blinked tears away. He would not cry. He was stronger than whatever this was dammit! He was smart, he’d figure this out.

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

He slammed the book in front of him shut and rest his forehead on the leather cover. Another failure. It just didn’t make sense. There was no record of a celestial contracting a human disease. No cuneiform tablets that detailed his symptoms. Not even a _goddamn_ cave painting.

Aziraphale grimaced at the blasphemy that slipped carelessly into his thoughts. Goodness he was tired. He rubbed at his burning eyes and ruffled his hair in frustration. He tried to sit back up straight and rolled his shoulders. His muscles protested against the movement and he couldn’t help the whine of pain he made. 

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

He wished Crowley were here. He’d say something clever or inspire Aziraphale to think of the solution. They were always better at plans when they were together. Aziraphale had a habit of overthinking so intensely that he forgot about steps 1-10 completely and went straight to Q. This often led to Aziraphale turning very easily solved problems into very difficult ones. _Keep it simple stupid_ was always Crowley’s teasing admonishment. Which, really, who was _he_ to talk about overthinking. The angel frowned in concentration. Maybe Crowley was right. If Aziraphale had skipped to step F, maybe he needed to go back to 1. His gaze landed on his Bible.

_Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

He cried out and gripped his head as thunderous red pain ricocheted threw his skull. It was so hard to think through the heat. Aziraphale cracked open his streaming eyes only to see a drop of liquid on the book he’d just shut. Another drop fell next to it. It shimmered like gold in the lamplight. And time froze.

Aziraphale gently wiped at his nose and stared at his hand, now streaked with golden liquid. He was bleeding. _He_ was bleeding. Not his corporation. His _Grace_. He shakily splayed his hand in front of him and choked. The black stain had reached the middle of each finger and was impossible to ignore. Aziraphale whipped up his other hand to confirm it was similarly discolored.

_Wrong. Wrong. WRONG!_

Horror gripped the angel around the throat and squeezed.

* * *

Anathema twisted the arms of her glasses back and forth as she mulled Crowley’s words over.

“Well what if it’s not Aziraphale’s body that’s sick?”

Crowley was sitting on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs in impatience.

“What like it’s all in his head? Wouldn’t have pegged you as anti-vax.”

She glared at him. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m talking about his – whatever he _actually_ is – his being. What if that’s what’s sick and it’s leaking through like – “ She gestured towards her eyes and up at the demon.

“No that’s not possible.” His voice was firm but a chill ran up his spine. “Besides angels are different, they don’t…_taint_…their vessels. Just glow a bit sometimes.”

The witch pursed her lips and stood abruptly. “I’ve got an idea.”

Anathema dashed away and Crowley heard her rummaging in a room down the hall. He couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in his chest and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This apprehension rivaled the moment he was handed a certain wicker basket eleven years ago. He hopped down from his perch to follow Anathema, only to almost run into her headfirst as she quickly turned around the corner, arms full of brass and silver instruments, candles, and chalk.

She dropped everything onto the floor and started drawing a circle surrounded by runes on the table. She placed a silver sextant at the top and what looked like orbs of various other metals around the circle with candles interspersed. Anathema looked up and appraised Crowley thoughtfully before wiping away at one set of runes and replacing them.

“Normally I’d need something that belongs to him. Something that he may have carried with him for a long period of time. I think this’ll work though,” Anathema said as she worked. She dusted off her hands on her skirt and turned towards Crowley. “Give me your hand please.”

Crowley took a hesitant step forward, then quirked an eyebrow in understanding. “Am I the something?”

Anathema smiled enigmatically but didn’t say anything and instead reached out to him. Crowley rolled his eyes and placed his hand in hers. The witch tugged him forwards and placed his hand in the center of the circle.

“Now don’t move.”

She squeezed Crowley’s hand reassuringly. Stepping towards the other side of the table but holding tight to his hand, Anathema lit the candles and passed a hand over the top of each flame. Crowley felt a tingle under his palm and flinched slightly when the runes glowed a bright green. Anathema placed her other hand on top of the sextant and closed her eyes. 

“This is a guiding spell. It should, hopefully, show me the best way in which to help Aziraphale based on his aura, which I’m hedging is residually connected to you.” Her brow furrowed and her eyes moved beneath her closed lids as if she were dreaming.

The tingling beneath his hand increased and Crowley hissed. “This is light magic.”

“Well yes, it’s goal is to ‘help’.”

He grit his teeth. “Lovely.”

The room fell silent. Crowley focused on breathing slowly, maintaining his calm. Minutes ticked by. He could hear birds chirping outside and the ring of some kid’s bicycle bell. He wondered if it was the Antichrist or one of his friends. Once Aziraphale got better he should suggest that they come back here and visit them, the angel would like that. Crowley could just picture him doting, trying to do those stupid magic tricks to impress the kids, spoiling them rotten with ice cream and telling them stories like they were his own but were actually completely co-opted from some old book he’d read.

That same warm, overwhelming emotion bubbled up in his chest and Anathema gasped. Her hand clenched around his own and Crowley held stock still.

“_Wrong_,” she said, voice shaking. “_It’s wrong._”

Crowley paled. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t – there’s something – his aura feels _wrong_.” Anathema’s face was twisted in something like pain. “There’s something, blocking and squeezing and – and shredding. I can’t reach him.”

“Anathema, _I don’t know what that means_,” Crowley tried not to shout. 

Sweat beaded on her forehead and she squeezed Crowley’s hand tighter. “I can barely see through but – it’s white and blue. But it’s so hot and there’s red and black and it hurts _it hurts_.”

There was a thud of something falling in an adjacent room but Crowley was rooted to the spot, a coiled spring of tension. “What’s the red and black?” 

Anathema said nothing, quick, shallow breaths filling the space. “It’s – it’s – fire. It’s smoke. It’s - “

Crowley’s control snapped.

“WHAT IS IT WHAT’S HURTING HIM?!” he roared.

Her nails dug into the demon’s skin and she screamed. The candles were extinguished all at once and Anathema fell to the floor.

“Anathema?” Crowley’s eyes were wide. He rushed to her side, guilt spiking through him. “Shit _shit_ Anathema?”

The witch’s eyes were open but unfocused. She shivered violently and sobbed.

“Damnation. It’s damnation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we see both parties sorta coming to a realization of what's happening. But how? Why? What does it really mean and what will the results be? Find out next time on "Sorry I promised you answers but my default setting is slow burn"!


	6. Like A Monster

All sound had cut out. Everything had cut out. Crowley could feel the push and pull of air entering and exiting his lungs, he felt the runaway beating of his heart, but beyond that he was utterly unmoored. His mind was completely void of thought and time was at a standstill. He stared at the woman lying in front of him without seeing and knelt on a floor he didn’t remember falling to. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears that was steadily increasing in volume. Louder than his breathing, louder than his heart, the sound reached a fever-pitch and the demon’s vacant eyes blinked. And then everything rushed back in all at once and Crowley gasped with the force of it. His eyes burned, his knees screamed, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

He sprung to his feet, like a puppet abruptly being lifted by its strings. Anathema, still on the ground shivering, made a noise that sounded like an aborted attempt to speak. Crowley looked down at her, eyes wild.

“I have to go.” His voice was shaking. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

And with a snap, Anathema was left alone in her kitchen, terrified and unable to give voice to all that she had seen.

* * *

It felt like when the bookshop was burning all over again. Except this time instead of the Bentley, Crowley arrived as a stutter in reality. He felt his energy drain away, cut off from Hell’s power as he was and not yet recovered from the witch’s spell. Crowley stumbled forward and all but fell through the entrance, doors crashing open and windows splintering with the force.

The smell was the first thing Crowley noticed. _Burning. Like something’s burning_, he thought. He firmly ignored the fleeting recognition, something he’d buried in his memory long ago, and limped forward.

“Aziraphale?! _Angel where are you_?!”

He ignored the déjà vu. 

A burst of wet, near hysterical laughter sent a fresh flash of panic through the demon and he sprinted around the corner to the back room where he stopped like he’d hit an invisible wall.

Aziraphale sat next to his desk against the wall. Books were strewn around him, as if a tower of them had toppled. He was curled into himself, knees drawn up to his chest and arms hidden between his legs and body. His forehead was on his knees, face just as hidden. Aziraphales’ shoulders shook as he laughed and Crowley could see the air distorting around him as waves of heat rippled off the angel’s body.

“A – Angel?” Crowley choked out. He took a hesitant step forward and automatically started reaching forward. Aziraphale’s laughter cut off in a choked sob and he pulled himself into an even tighter ball. Crowley froze.

“Angel it – it’s me. Crowley. I – “ But he was at a loss for words. He couldn’t say it was ok. He couldn’t say don’t worry. So Crowley just slid to the ground and slowly crawled on his hands and knees until he was next to the angel. He could feel the heat against his skin, as if he were standing directly next to an open flame. Crowley couldn’t see any of the angel apart from his blue pajamas and sweat-soaked blonde hair. He reached out hesitantly and with a nervous swallow, rest his hand on Aziraphale’s arm.

Aziraphale cried out like he’d been struck and scrambled away from Crowley, putting distance between them again. He curled back into his position but this time clutched at his head, fingers gripping and pulling at his hair. Crowley stared in horror at Aziraphale’s hands, the fingers of which were all now stained completely black.

“Aziraphale _please_.” The tears Crowley had been holding at bay flowed down his cheeks. “Darling it’s me. I would never _ever_ hurt you. Re – remember?” Crowley chanced a scoot forward. “Y – you got mad at me the last time I asked if you knew that. Like it was a stupid question.”

The angel shuddered. His hands moved from his hair and moved to grip his arms. Crowley chose to take this as a good sign and moved a bit closer.

“That meant a lot to me, you know? That you knew that. That you trusted me.” Crowley’s voice was softer than he ever thought he was capable of. “And just so you know…I trust you too. And then we – we had that night, after the Ritz? I know we didn’t really _do_ anything but…it was important to me and it felt like – “ Crowley’s throat was constricted with emotion. “It felt like we were _together_.”

Aziraphale’s grip had relaxed. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath and some of the tension in his body drained away. Crowley heard him take another deep breath and the angel raised his head to finally look at him. The demon couldn’t help the way his eyes widened and the pained gasp he let out.

Dark circles lay under the angel’s fever bright, blood-shot eyes. His face was drawn, his plump cheeks leaned out. Aziraphale’s lips were bloodless and pressed into a thin line, brows furrowed in either pain or concentration, Crowley couldn’t tell. There was something wrong with the angel’s eyes, but Crowley couldn’t put his finger on it. The demon finished moving back to Aziraphale’s side but didn’t touch him. The two just stared at each other, trying to think of what to say.

The minutes ticked by and Crowley figured out what was wrong with Aziraphale’s eyes. His pupils were too wide. Just barely, but he could tell. Crowley willed himself not to shudder.

“Angel – “

Aziraphale snorted and hiccupped into a giggle. He wiped his running nose and held his hand up for Crowley to see. The angel’s face was stretched in a rictus grin. Against the black of his fingers, the gold of his blood stood out all the more.

“L – looks like you’ll have to stop calling me that my….my d – “ Aziraphale’s unnatural expression contorted and collapsed. A sound bubbled up from deep in his chest and burst unbidden from his mouth as a wail of despair. He buried his face in his stained hands and wept uncontrollably. Crowley lunged towards him, pulling the angel into his chest and wrapping his arms around him, ignoring the way Aziraphale flinched at his touch.

Crowley held Aziraphale close and made gentle noises meant to comfort. He pet the angel’s hair and rubbed his back in what Crowley hoped was a soothing motion. He didn’t know how long he kept it up but eventually the angel threw his own arms around the demon and buried his face in his shoulder. Aziraphale clung to Crowley, fingers bruising and tears staining his shirt, until he was too exhausted to cry anymore.

When Crowley felt Aziraphale still and his breathing even out, he gently held Aziraphale’s face and pulled back so he could see him. The angel sniffed and kept his eyes cast downward.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” Aziraphale’s voice was low and flat. He sounded completely spent. “I don’t know what came over me I – I’ve never done that before.”

Crowley closed his eyes against the swell of sadness in his chest and took a fortifying breath before opening them again.

“Darling there’s no need to apologize. This is…a lot. You’re allowed to be a bit off kilter.”

“Off kilter?” Aziraphale raised his eyes to look incredulously at Crowley. “My dear that was _unhinged_.”

Crowley sighed. “It wasn’t that bad angel.” Aziraphale frowned, Crowley hissed. “Fuck off with that you’re _my_ angel.” 

He didn’t fully realize what he’d said until Aziraphale’s brows rose and mouth gaped in awe. But before he could backtrack Aziraphale flinched again and pulled out of Crowley’s embrace.

“I’m sorry – I’m sorry I don’t mean to,” Aziraphale cringed, baleful eyes shining with tears again. “It hurts when you’re near me sometimes. I don’t – I don’t know why – “

Crowley stared at his suddenly empty arms, feeling colder than he could ever remember feeling. He clenched his hands and brought them back down to his sides.

“I do.” Crowley’s eyes brimmed with tears and he grimaced as a potent mix of sadness and fury swirled in his chest. “Whenever I’m near you and I…feel the way I feel about you…it causes you pain. Because – “ He tried to control the waver in his voice. “Because you’re Falling and that kind of feeling is being burned out of you.”

Aziraphale clutched his hands together, fingers hidden, expression unreadable. “So…I’m really…this is actually happening.”

Crowley nodded curtly and yanked his glasses off to pinch between his eyes. “And you know – there are so many worse things about this – but you know what really fucking _burns_ me? I didn’t even get a chance to tell you. _To say the words_. And now it’s too late and even – even _feeling_ that near you makes you hurt and it’s just _not fair_.”

In a sudden explosive rage, Crowley flung his glasses across the room where they crashed through a window and made Aziraphale jump.

“IT’S NOT FUCKING FAIR!” Crowley turned and upended Aziraphale’s desk like it weighed nothing. “WE DID EVERYTHING RIGHT! _YOU_ DID EVERYTHING RIGHT! AND THIS IS WHAT WE GET?! FUCKING BITCH GODDAMN IT!” 

Scales flowed across his skin and he shouted at the heavens through his fangs. He kicked over a side table and threw a lamp. Crowley cursed Heaven and screamed at God, barely controlling his form and shifting amorphously between snake and human. The sleeping dragon in his gut, full of fear and anxiety that he had kept tampered down for so long, was finally released and blinded him with rage. He didn’t stop his destruction until a small sound of distress pulled him back to himself.

Crowley blinked rapidly and solidified back into his bipedal shape. The bookshop looked like a hurricane had blown through, upending furniture and shredding through books. And in the center was Aziraphale, still sitting on the floor and looking up in fear. _At Crowley_. The shattered remnants of Aziraphale’s white angel wing mug lay in front of him. 

Crowley felt like he was going to be sick.

“Aziraphale. No. I – I didn’t mean – “

Aziraphale picked up a white ceramic wing and cradled it in his hands. His lower lip wobbled. Then his expression hardened and he glared up at Crowley.

“Get out.”

“Angel – “

“I said. _Get out_.”

“You can’t mean that.”

Aziraphale’s face turned thunderous as he unsteadily climbed to his feet.

“This is my home. _My_ home. Which you have completely wrecked in your tantrum.”

“Tantrum?!” Crowley sputtered, face turned red.

“Well what would you call it? Wanton act of violence?”

“Look I’m – I’m sorry, I lost control but – but I can fix it!”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT! JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE A DEMON DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN JUST LOSE CONTROL AND ACT LIKE A MONSTER!”

Aziraphale startled backwards, hands flying to his mouth in horror. Crowley looked like he’d just been slapped.

Silence hung between them, both looking at the other like they were a coiled viper. 

Crowley shook his head and moved towards the door. Aziraphale looked terrified.

“Crowley wait – don’t – “

“I’m just going to get some air. I’ll be back.”

The demon flung the door open and slammed it closed behind him.

As Crowley slid to the ground, back to the door, he heard the soft sound of Aziraphale’s muffled sobs from inside. He hung his head in shame. He was exhausted and stretched too thin and he had made everything so much worse.

_Like a monster._

* * *

“Things are going incredibly well so far wouldn’t you say?”

“I had my doubts but fuck me sideways you’ve proven me wrong.”

“Colorful.”

“Thank you.”

“Nice idea to speed things up once he left though. Very diabolical.”

“It’s in the job description, feathers. Wouldn’t be Lord of the Flies otherwise.”

“Fair point. Think we should keep it here for now?”

“Nah. Pull it back and let ‘em stew. If we’re lucky he’ll go mad and they’ll kill each other, wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Oh, bug, you do say the loveliest things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL ABOARD THE PAIN TRAAAAIN


	7. A Deep Breath

The sun shone perfectly through the trees and bathed the cottage in warm dappled light. Newt hoped he never got used to this. The perfect golden hour that somehow always passed right as he came to visit. He wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit specifically, or maybe the light just looked like that for everyone returning to somewhere they loved, regardless of the time. But one thing he knew for sure was that he had a certain eleven year old boy to thank for it. Newt all but skipped through the front gate. He had never been this truly, purely happy in all his life. He had managed to find a flat not too far from Lower Tadfield and, with the help of his ridiculously wonderful girlfriend, had compiled a list of jobs he should look into that didn’t involve computers. Newt had taken to the hunt with a newfound fervor that finally paid off. He launched through the door with a flourish.

“Anathema! I did it! I got the job! An actual job not a fake job! With a paycheck and a pension and everything! A mail man, can you believe it? Well, mail carrier now, isn’t it? We should celebrate, I thought we could go out or – Anathema?”

Newt paused in the living room and was met with an eerie silence. No sound of footsteps coming to greet him, no clacking of the typewriter, no clinking of a kettle and mug. He would have thought no one was home except for the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Newt took a step forward and slipped on an open book lying on the ground. 

“Christ,” he breathed, heart leaping in his chest. Newt bent to pick it up and frowned in confusion. The book felt incredibly out of place in the home of a witch but, then again, who was he to say? He absentmindedly brushed a hand over the open pages – it had landed in a section called “Ephesians” – and Newt smirked at the name, thinking it sounded like something out of Doctor Who. He immediately realized that was probably sacrilegious or disrespectful or something, given that he now knew for a fact that God was real.

“_Sorry_,” he whispered to no one in particular, and placed the Bible on the coffee table pages down just in case Anathema had needed to mark where she’d left off.

A muted thud and moan drew Newt’s attention to the kitchen and his apprehension spiked.

“Anathema?”

He padded into the next room and the sight of Anathema on the ground, leaning against a cupboard with her face twisted in pain, had him sliding on his knees to her side in an instant.

“Oh god, Anathema are you ok? Did you slip? Is anything broken? Where does it hurt?” His hands hovered over her, unsure if he should touch or risk causing more pain.

Anathema huffed in fond exasperation but continued to look strained.

“Right, sorry, not helpful. Ok um…can I move you?”

Anathema nodded. Hesitantly, Newt slipped his arms underneath her and, with some nervous jostling, he lifted her into his arms. He carefully carried her into the bedroom and placed her on the bed, using far too much of his back and not enough knees which would result to an ice bath in the future.

Newt propped her up on an absurd number of pillows. “How’s that? Alright?”

The only response he got was a small smile. 

“Ok. Ok. Doctor then yes? Yes. Going to – to call one of those.” 

Anathema’s hand moved slightly towards him, fingers twitching in a silent request. Newt cradled it with both of his and kissed her palm.

“Don’t.” It was barely more than a breath, but he heard. 

Newt brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear and sighed. The tension in Anathema’s expression lessened around her eyes.

“This is a little scary sweetheart.” He had only just started using pet names and the words still stuttered on their way out. “But if you say don’t…then I won’t.”

Instead, he sat on the side of the bed and kissed her on the cheek.

“I’ll just be here until you can tell me what else to do – kind of like usual really.”

A slight upturn of her lips was all Newt needed in response. 

And as Anathema’s eyes fluttered closed and her expression finally relaxed, whispered words and fragmented moments swirled among her dreams like milk poured in tea. Upon waking she wouldn’t be sure what was imagined and what was prophecy – and meanwhile the book with some semblance of answers lay forgotten, open and unread in the other room.

* * *

Crowley nearly fell over backwards when the bookshop doors were yanked open from inside. His arms windmilled before he steadied in an awkward, semi-laid back position on the stoop. Out of both fear and stubbornness, the demon kept his eyes forward and refused to turn around. He could hear the scuffing of shoes behind him and an awkward cough, but Crowley was determined to be very interested in the passing morning commuters.

“…will you please come back inside?”

And there it was. Crowley had never been any good at refusing a request made in that voice. Soft, gentle, with the genuine implication of “it would be ever so lovely if you did this but if you didn’t that’s alright too”. He untangled his stiff limbs and with a sniff, turned and walked past the angel and back into the store without a glance back. 

Everything was still a wreck. Crowley hadn’t noticed how many shelves had been knocked over before, or how many books lie scattered on the dusty floor. Guilt lay heavy in his gut. He had no right to be so petty. So he faced back towards Aziraphale and his eyes widened in surprise.

The angel was fully dressed, complete with his brown shoes and tan jacket. His eyes were red-rimmed but dry. And while he wasn’t swaying on his feet, it was impossible to ignore how the clothes hung differently on his frame. The waistcoat in particular hung loser around his middle and it made Crowley gape. Aziraphale seemed to notice where his attention was drawn and held his hands in front of his waist in apparent self-consciousness.

“Look. Crowley.” Aziraphale twisted his gold pinky ring, only to notice his stained fingers and quickly hold his hands behind his back. He straightened and tilted his chin up proudly. “I’m sorry for what I said. I was angry and I didn’t mean it. Of course, you can understand why I was so short with you but – that’s no excuse for being a prat. I’m sorry. For the – other things as well.”

Crowley snapped his mouth shut with an audible clack. “You – angel you don’t have to. Honestly. It’s my fault. Everything. You didn’t do anything.”

Before Aziraphale could respond, Crowley closed his eyes and gathered himself. With a snap, the shelves righted themselves and the books flew back to their spots. Everything that was broken and displaced reformed and within moments the shop was back to normal. Even the winged mug was back in its place.

Crowley sank to the floor in exhaustion, only to find he never reached the floor and instead was in Aziraphale’s arms.

“You stupid, _stupid_, demon.” Aziraphale’s skin was still hot to the touch and Crowley found himself leaning into it. “Crowley you could’ve discorporated! Your energy isn’t unlimited you absolute idiot!”

“’M sorry,” he breathed. “Didn’t want you to hate me. Not for this at least.”

Crowley pouted when Aziraphale pushed him away to hold at arm’s length. Searching blue eyes scanned the demon’s face and Crowley once again noticed how Aziraphale’s pupils were slightly off.

“My dear, I could never! Not for this or anything else.”

“Not even for this?” Crowley gestured loosely to Aziraphale. “For – for breaking you?”

“_Breaking me_?” If the angel’s wings had been out, they would have been puffed up like an irate bird. “I am not made of glass Crowley.”

“I know that, angel, I do but – “

“I am a Principality. A soldier. The Guardian of the Eastern Gate. I am goodness and light and love and – and – ,” Aziraphale released his hold on Crowley’s arms and stepped back with fists clenched at his sides. “And I _am_ those things. _I am_. But I’m also prideful. And gluttonous. And covetous. I can be cruel. I’ve taken lives. So no, Crowley, you didn’t break me. I did that all on my own.”

The telltale shimmer of heat was buffeting off of the angel’s shoulders again and his eyes were brimming with tears.

“And I don’t want to fight. I don’t want you to leave. Crowley I’m – I’m really scared.”

Crowley didn’t remember telling his wobbly legs to move but suddenly he was holding Aziraphale. Both were weak and swaying in the other’s arms. Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath and buried his face in Crowley’s shoulder.

“I know darling, I know.” Crowley did his best to smother down the warm feeling blooming in his chest. He focused instead on the white hot anger at what was happening to his angel, which seemed strong enough to dull any other emotions that might hurt Aziraphale. “Come sit with me?”

He felt Aziraphale nod against him. Crowley led him over to the sofa where they sat, Crowley holding Aziraphale’s hands and rubbing comforting circles with his thumbs. Aziraphale suddenly remembered the state of his hands and tried to pull away.

“Angel it’s fine,” he held them tight, even brushing a kiss over the blackened fingers. Aziraphale’s breath hitched.

“It’s awful. Like they’re burned.” The angel’s voice was thick with emotion and held back tears.

“It’s not so bad. You can always wear gloves.”

“But they’re getting worse. It wasn’t that much before, just half a finger.”

“Well, seems to have stopped now at least.” Crowley explored, rubbing Aziraphale’s fingers between his. When he pulled away, his own fingers were streaked with soot. “Huh. Well that’s…interesting.”

“_Interesting_,” Aziraphale wrenched his hands away and this time succeeded. He crossed his arms and looked away from Crowley. “I’ll stain everything I touch.”

“That was the wrong choice of words. Sorry.”

When silence was all the response he got Crowley breathed deeply through his nose. He would not lose his temper. 

“Aziraphale, I think we need to have a frank conversation. And I think you should ask me questions.”

That got the angel’s attention. His shoulders hunched and he slumped forward to rest his chin in his hands and stare dejectedly forward.

“What if I don’t like the answers?”

“I guarantee you won’t. Angel look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“What? Why?”

“If I do I’ll start crying again.”

That was a javelin straight through the heart and it made both the angel and demon wince. Crowley shifted forward and pulled Aziraphale back into an embrace.

“Here. This way we can – ,” Crowley didn’t want to say hide, “ – talk without um – distraction.”

“Clever,” Aziraphale murmured into his neck.

Crowley shivered. “Do you wanna start or should I?”

Aziraphale tightened his embrace in response.

“Ok. So…uh…” Crowley floundered, completely lost. Where were you supposed to start in explaining what it was like to be damned?

“Was this how it was for you?” the angel asked, voice wavering. “With the pain and heat and – all of it?”

“Yes and no. Mine was a literal fall, angel. All of ours were. Everything happened so fast I didn’t know what it was.” 

This was a subject they had never broached; it had been an unspoken understanding between them that Crowley’s life before the Fall and his Fall itself were off limits. Giving it life in words left him feeling raw.

“I was a comet burning through literal and metaphorical space. Time didn’t exist yet so not entirely sure how long it took but – it felt sudden. My Grace was ripped from me and suddenly I was in Hell. I didn’t know it at the time. At the time it was just a really hot, dark, and smelly place.”

Aziraphale tensed in his arms. “Will I have to – will I have to go to Hell?”

“No.” Crowley was firm. “You weren’t in Heaven and Earth didn’t exist the last time. And I won’t let them take you.”

The angel nodded and breathed deeply into Crowley’s shirt.

“What happened to you though? What – “ Aziraphale swallowed. “What changed?”

Crowley’s stomach bottomed out and he felt his throat constrict. He was glad Aziraphale couldn’t see his face.

“I didn’t know who I was. Or what I was. Honestly, I don’t know if I had form at first. I was just…pain. And anger. I was so _so_ angry. There was probably fear too but, that burned away pretty quick. It…took awhile to remember. And even then, not everything. Took longer than that to become…well _me_.”

The arms around him shifted and squeezed further and Crowley suddenly felt like he was the one being held.

“I’m so sorry my dear. That sounds terrible.”

“It was a long, long time ago, angel.”

“You remember everything now though, right?”

Crowley didn’t respond. He felt a sharp inhale from Aziraphale. 

“Crowley, my dear what are you still missing?”

“My name. I don’t – I don’t remember my name.”

“Oh no – “

“It’s ok though. I like my name now. I got to choose it. _Me_. Can’t be taken away if I gave it to myself.” Crowley paused, realizing he’d never revealed that aspect of changing his name to anyone. He shook it off. “And besides you don’t need to worry, I’ll remember your name for you.”

“But Crowley,” Aziraphale pulled away to look up at him with big, earnest eyes. “If yours happened so fast, why is this taking so long? You never felt sick before you Fell did you?”

“No I didn’t. I don’t know angel.”

Aziraphale nodded in resignation. “Must be a special punishment then.”

“Oh bollocks to that.”

“Well then what?”

“I just – this whole thing – is there any way it could be a mistake? Maybe a mistyped memo or – or someone leaned on a button by accident?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed in exasperation, but his lips twitched in what could have been a smile. “Only the Almighty can make angels Fall. It’s not the sort of thing that relies on delegation.” 

“Still doesn’t make any sense,” the demon muttered, burying his nose in the angel’s hair. He noted that he now smelled like a campfire and orange spice.

“Can I ask…when I met you in Eden, were you fully…you?”

“For the most part. Some stuff I picked up from the humans. And you.”

“But you weren’t particularly evil even then! You didn’t attack me or anything.”

“No, I don’t know I just…didn’t want to.” Crowley felt Aziraphale tip-toeing around something. “What’s your real question angel?”

“Will I be evil?” he blurted. “I’m going to forget who I am, I’m going to change into something else and – and I know _you’re_ not evil but that’s _now_ and I didn’t know you _then_ and there are plenty of demons who are evil _now_ and – “

“Aziraphale, darling for Satan’s sake _breathe_!”

The angel was hyperventilating and his eyes were wild. “I don’t want to be evil I – I _like_ being good I don’t want to hurt people! Oh god, Crowley I don’t want to hurt _you_!”

Crowley grabbed the angel’s hands and placed them on his chest. He could feel the heat from Aziraphale’s palms as if he’d pressed against an oven.

“It’s ok, it’s ok breathe angel. Breathe like me.” Crowley took a deep breath in and out. Aziraphale’s hands rose and fell with Crowley’s chest and he tried to match the rhythm. 

“Good, good.”

Aziraphale was shaking, but Crowley’s steady heartbeat calmed the angel and his breathing slowly regulated.

“Crowley…” He whimpered, voice weak and winded. 

“Now you listen to me.” Crowley still held Aziraphale’s hands firmly to his chest. “Yes. You will change. And you will lose a lot. And angel I’m so sorry you’re going to be in a lot of pain. But I will be there. It might take some time, but we’ve got plenty of that. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m not made of glass either. I won’t let you hurt me. Or anybody else. And when you remember, I’ll be there to welcome you home.”

The angel’s eyes were wide and held something unfathomable. Although weak, the first genuine smile Crowley had seen since that night at the Ritz graced Aziraphale’s face. It lit him up from the inside and for a moment, Crowley could pretend that nothing had changed.

Aziraphale tensed and his fingers dug into Crowley’s chest in sudden pain.

“I love you.”

The demon couldn’t smother the feeling anymore, he couldn’t care. It roared free and bloomed in his chest and made his eyes water. In this moment, despite the pain, the wrongness, the scandal, despite what was to come, this angel loved him.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Angst but then fluff?!? Hope y'all enjoyed this one, I really liked writing it:)
> 
> As always, thank you so SO much to everyone who's commented and given this fic kudos. It means a heck of a lot and trust me I read them multiple times, they make me very happy. I'm just awkward and don't know how to respond directly to praise besides THANKS and <33


	8. Fragments

He woke up screaming.

His muscles were seizing and he spasmed uncontrollably. Dark red pain tore at his insides. Everything was on fire. He jerked onto his side and his wings burst through his pajamas and into the physical plane. They stretched near to breaking and bent at an unnatural angle beneath him, like they were being torn from his back. And through the unimaginable agony he was never blessed with unconsciousness. It was untenable.

Something strong grabbed his wings and forced them to fold towards his back, then a firm weight held them down and he felt pressure against his body. His flailing arms and legs were grabbed and held down by cold, lithe muscle and he couldn’t help but jerk against the confinement.

“No! Let me – let me go! I can’t – I’ll – “ There was something foreign rumbling in his chest and a new kind of fire flickered to life. It licked at the hollowed out cavern inside him that once held something else, though for the life of him he couldn’t remember what. His lips curled back as the rumbling grew louder when finally the fire crescendoed and receded as quickly as it had arrived.

He collapsed, white wings relaxing and pooling to the floor and head falling to his pillow. He took long, ragged breaths and tried to slow his heartrate.

“It’ssss ok. It’ssss ok deep breathssss like we talked about. That’ssss good angel, you’re doing great.”

_Crowley._

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open. 

A giant snake was firmly wrapped around his entire body, his head lifted from Aziraphale’s chest and watching the angel intently. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s voice sounded small. “Of course.”

The snake tilted its head in question.

“Of course it’s you.”

“Who elssse would it be?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I just…didn’t realize.”

Crowley stared at him. His body relaxed and he unwound himself from the angel to quickly reform into his human shape and cup Aziraphale’s face in his hands. He tried to hide it, but Aziraphale saw the fear in his eyes.

“Angel. What’s my name?”

Aziraphale managed to smile and turned to kiss the demon’s palm. 

“You’re Crowley,” he said with as much love as he could muster, and shuddered at the pain sizzling up his spine because of it.

Crowley sighed. He brushed back Aziraphale’s hair and let his fingers drag through his curls. The angel’s eyes fluttered and he hummed in appreciation. He felt Crowley’s fingers pause and heard a soft inhale that turned into a quiet cough. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Crowley said. He returned to raking his fingers through the angel’s hair.

“Crowley, what is it?”

The demon’s jaw clenched. “Your hair’s changing color.”

Crowley focused on his petting and Aziraphale was simply focusing on the pleasant feeling and refused to think about anything else.

It had been a month since they’d had their conversation, since they’d said the words. Crowley had all but moved in with Aziraphale and barely left his side, the one bright spot in his long days of barely tolerable pain. Some days were better than others. Aziraphale managed to get dressed, maybe even have some tea, and he could walk around his shop without help. He even opened the store for a few hours one day, though no one came in since it was 4am to 7am on a Tuesday. 

The other days were torturous. Aziraphale would think he felt fine, then fall to the floor because his legs felt like they were being run over by a car. Sometimes he couldn’t open his eyes all day because when he did, his vision was completely eclipsed with red sparks and he would dry heave since there was nothing in his stomach to expel.

He couldn’t keep any food down and his weight had drastically decreased. None of his clothes fit him right anymore and the last time he’d tried to put on his pants, only for them to slip down to his ankles, Aziraphale had burst into tears.

After comforting him, Crowley had had to take a walk to his flat and scream abuse at his plants for an hour. He loved Aziraphale’s softness. In part because it was Aziraphale’s choice to be so, and the angel loved how he appeared. Crowley had once, half-mocking, said he resembled a comfortable sofa. Aziraphale had beamed at him and took it as a compliment.

And now that softness was being stripped from him against his will. Crowley seethed with hatred and often found himself glaring and flipping the bird at the sky. Not that he expected God to respond in any way, he just needed somewhere to direct his rage.

“What color?” Aziraphale’s voice was flat.

“I don’t know…it’s just the roots but…darker. Like a grey I think.”

“Grey?”

“Like storm clouds.”

Aziraphale brought his hands up from where they were clenched at his sides. They were now black down to the middle of his palms. Crowley watched him with worry, but the angel simply sighed.

“Any other damage?”

The hand in his hair pulled away and then Crowley was hovering directly above him, staring into his face. Crowley’s snake eyes were piercing, and though he loved them, Aziraphale felt like they were looking through him and into his very being. He didn’t want Crowley to see the ugliness festering inside. 

“Your eyes are changing too.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. Aziraphale grimaced and he focused very hard on not crying.

“Just tell me.”

Crowley hated this.

“Your pupils are going horizontal. It’s um….gonna be hard not to notice soon. And there’s specks in the blue now. Orange, I think. Burnt orangeish.”

Aziraphale turned away from Crowley, hid his face in his hands and moaned. Crowley pulled him flush to his body and lay down with his arms wrapped around the angel’s chest. The angel’s wings were fully folded against his back and quivered when Crowley rubbed his nose against the feathers.

It was a lot of this these days, Crowley holding Aziraphale close in lieu of saying anything. What could he say? He didn’t want to lie or promise things he couldn’t guarantee. So Crowley settled for assuring Aziraphale that he wasn’t alone.

“Thank you for telling me,” Aziraphale said, sounding dejected. More than anything he sounded tired.

And he was. Achingly so. But he couldn’t seem to fall asleep for more than a few hours before an episode hit. That’s what they were calling the seizures he was experiencing with increasing frequency. The constant base-level pain made him feel untethered. Minutes were hours were seconds – it was a compressing and expanding thing and every time Aziraphale tried to focus through the haze and grasp at reality, he felt it slip through his fingers like smoke.

But then Crowley was there with gentle touches and kind words. A grounding presence that Aziraphale couldn’t be more thankful for. The angel blinked against the sudden burning in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I can’t…show you…how much I love you.”

“Angel…”

“I wanted to. In the human way. In every way. But now I…”

“Love, please it’s ok. I – it’s ok you really don’t need to explain.”

The one good thing, if he could call it that, caused by the onset of his episodes was that the pain he felt from his and Crowley’s feelings for each other was negligible by comparison. And Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to relish them and make sure Crowley truly knew how deeply he felt them before….well before he was gone.

Aziraphale turned so his nose was inches from Crowley’s.

“I need you to know though. There is nothing about you that I don’t love with every fiber of my being. All that I am it…_yearns_ for you. I think in some ways I always have, even before I realized it. That’s why I didn’t attack you in Eden either. Why I felt the need to shelter you. You are _astounding_ Anthony J Crowley. Inside and out.”

Crowley’s eyes were large and wet with unshed tears. He looked completely overwhelmed. Aziraphale closed the distance and brought their lips together, tongue darting out to taste the demon. Crowley moaned before he got control of himself and pulled back to see Aziraphale squinting in pain.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Crowley said. “It’s not worth it.”

“You’re always worth it,” Aziraphale whispered and kissed him again. The demon’s rational mind fuzzed out and he languidly returned the kiss, making use of his forked tongue. 

Aziraphale made a motion to reach for Crowley’s belt but the demon pushed his hand gently away. They parted, breathing heavily.

“No angel. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Do you…not want to?” Aziraphale wasn’t able to hide the hurt in his voice.

Crowley hissed in frustration. “More than anything. But…not like this.”

“Then when Crowley?” Aziraphale felt that new fire spark and his temper flared. “When I’m beyond recognition? When you’ve gotten so sick of the sight of what I’ve become you can’t bare the thought of touching me? When I don’t know you? When I don’t love you anymore?”

Crowley flinched back and stared at the fuming angel. There was something new behind Aziraphale’s eyes. It made Crowley hiss and he felt his fangs slide down reactively. The angel gasped and the hardness of his expression melted; his eyes turned soft and deeply sad.

“My dear, I – “

“Stop it. I’m sick of the apologies. You’re always forgiven. _Always_. Just…assume it from now on and we can save the time we have together for other things.”

Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut. “I really don’t deserve you.”

Crowley snorted without mirth. “Right back at you.”

They lay there on the bed, drinking in the sight of the other as if they were trying to memorize each other. 

“My dear, I’m not apologizing, nor am I saying this as an excuse because it isn’t but - there was something…I felt something.” Aziraphale frowned. “I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“Oh?”

Aziraphale nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to continue. “It was just for a moment but – it felt like I hated you.”

Crowley choked.

“It was _rage_ Crowley. I don’t think it was – I mean I didn’t – I didn’t realize it was you. It wasn’t directed at _you_ you. Just…the thing that was holding me down.”

“The _thing_ that was holding you down.”

“Oh darling don’t be mad, I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t in my right mind I – was just confused.”

“Confused about what angel?”

Aziraphale blinked. Something was wrong. He was standing in his kitchen where Crowley leaned against the entryway and looked at him with his head cocked in confusion. But – they had been lying in bed. Hadn’t they? Aziraphale looked down and saw he was wearing grey sweatpants and a dark blue tshirt.

“Angel?”

He was holding a white winged mug that smelled like coco and filled to the brim with marshmallows. Aziraphale stared hard at his hands – hands which he swore he had just seen – but that were now completely stained black up to the wrist.

His throat felt constricted and he couldn’t swallow. Aziraphale tried to make himself move, or breathe, but all he could do was whine low and scared. Crowley grabbed him by his arms and squeezed hard.

“_Fuck_ it happened again didn’t it?”

The angel finally managed to open his mouth, though his tongue felt heavy and thick. His hands clenched around the mug and a crack spider-webbed up the side.

“C – Crowley what’s happened? We – I was lying in bed and you were holding me and – and I had an episode but we’re…in the kitchen now?”

“No darling.” Crowley looked wrecked. Only now did Aziraphale notice the circles under his eyes and his unkempt, shaggy hair. “That probably happened awhile ago.”

“A – awhile?” Aziraphale was a deer in the headlights. “How long is awhile?”

“How long ago did I come back from my trip to Tadfield?”

“Couldn’t have been longer than a month ago.”

Crowley’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “More like three.”

The mug shattered in Aziraphale’s hands. Crowley sighed and with a snap mended it back together before placing it aside.

“You said happened again. How many times has this happened?”

“Um…about once a week for the past month or so. But uh…this is the third time this week so.” Crowley didn’t finished the sentence and elected to stare at his feet.

“Oh dear god.” Aziraphale gripped his chest, his heart thundering in panic. “I haven’t – have I done anything? What have I – _oh god_ – “

The angel sprinted for the bathroom and managed to get there just in time before vomiting. He gasped and spit, a glob of golden something joining what looked like black sludge in the toilet. Horrified, he stood and stared at himself in the mirror, hands gripping the sink so hard his knuckles turned white.

Golden blood smeared at the corners of his mouth. His face was lean and cheekbones severe. He covered his mouth in horror at his eyes. His pupils were fully horizontal and unequivocally not human passing. His irises were a mix of blue and dark orange. Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair, now a mess of blonde and dark grey. The sink groaned under the grip of his remaining hand.

“You need to stop grabbing breakable things angel.”

Aziraphale spun around and all but sprinted into Crowley’s arms, which the surprised demon only just managed to hold out.

“You’ve been you. The whole time,” Crowley assured, petting through his hair.

“But I – I don’t remember!” Aziraphale gasped and his knees suddenly buckled. Crowley held him up as Aziraphale cried out in pain. His eyes leaked gold and his hands spasmed against Crowley’s back. The angel’s wings once again unfurled, ripping violently through his t-shirt and flapping uncontrollably. White feathers fell around them and Aziraphale clenched his teeth hard to keep from screaming. Firm arms held him to the ground and heat roared beneath Aziraphale’s skin. 

“Please _God please_,” the angel sobbed.

“Oh no,” a voice across the room breathed.

Aziraphale opened his streaming eyes and found himself on his hands and knees in his study. Gold blood streaked the floor and his face burned. He shook uncontrollably.

“What did you do to yourself?” the voice whispered with barely suppressed horror. 

Hands cradled Aziraphale’s face and the angel whimpered when they touched his cheeks as pain flared. The hands retreated. Aziraphale gently touched his face and found deep gauge marks from his forehead down to his jaw. He looked at his fingers to see gold dripping from them. Flesh was stuck under his nails. The black was several inches past his wrists. He felt like he was going to vomit.

“When…._when?_” Aziraphale growled. It was an unhappy and angry sound. The angel didn’t like how if felt coming out of him.

“Five months since Tadfield,” the voice shook. “I tell you every day. Five months.”

Only now did Aziraphale notice his wings hanging on either side of him. Dirty, ratty looking things with barely any feathers hanging from the bones that bent at odd angles and oozed gold. He focused on breathing slowly. In and out. In and out.

“Have I hurt you?”

“No. You almost did but…you hurt yourself instead.”

“Good.”

“Angel. What’s my name?”

Dark orange eyes met bright yellow ones and the world came into focus.

“_Crowley_,” Aziraphale exhaled in relief. “It’s you.”

The demon pulled the angel to him and held onto him like a lifeline. He pressed a trail of kisses along Aziraphale’s hairline and unsuccessfully swallowed down a sob.

“You’ve been you. You always ask and yes, you’ve been you. The episodes are worse. You broke your wings a week ago and they won’t heal. I can’t heal them,” Crowley was openly weeping against the angel. “I don’t think I’ll be able to heal your face either. I’m so sorry. _I’m so sorry angel_.”

Aziraphale held the back of Crowley’s head and rocked them back and forth, almost in a slow dance. He furiously ignored the sickening pain and anger burning in his throat. Aziraphale was still an angel and damnit he would act like it for as long as he could manage. He pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s neck.

“You are so brave, my love,” Aziraphale willed all the love and adoration he felt being smothered by ashes inside him forward and let it shine through his eyes. “You are doing more than could ever be expected of you, you have nothing to be sorry for. I love you so very much.”

He pressed another kiss on Crowley’s tattoo and the demon shuddered. 

“I didn’t realize…how hard this would be,” Crowley confessed. “I didn’t think – I guess short-term memory goes first if it’s slow like this but – it’s just so hard.”

Guilt tore through Aziraphale and made it difficult for him to look at Crowley. His eyes wandered over the bookshop. It was so much worse than when Crowley had lost his temper. Entire chunks of wall were kicked in. Books were torn asunder. Sections of the ceiling were blown out and long, deep scratches were carved along the floors. 

Aziraphale’s arms fell limp to his sides and he moved away from Crowley like he was walking in a dream. He reached the doorway of the bathroom only to find the mirror splintered in the center and cracks splitting his image into fragments. 

“I take it I didn’t like what I saw?”

“You were angry.” Crowley’s eyes followed but he remained frozen where he was.

“At you?”

“At everything.”

The angel turned in a circle, eyes sweeping over the damaged bookshop before landing on Crowley.

“I couldn’t keep miracling it fixed,” Crowley said, voice pleading and hands held out like he was begging for forgiveness. “I couldn’t – last time I passed out and when I woke up you – you’d gotten outside.”

“_What?!_”

“Made it all the way to St. James. When I found you I asked what you were doing and – “ Crowley’s voice cracked. “You said you were waiting for someone. When I asked who you said you couldn’t remember.”

“Oh no, oh dear I – “ Aziraphale was interrupted by a fit of coughing and he nearly fell forward with the force of it. Gold blood coated the hand covering his mouth and leaked out between his fingers and onto the floor. It made his whole body convulse and his eyes started bleeding gold. 

Crowley moved to steady him and placed a firm hand on his back to rub circles until the coughing shifted into gasping sobs.

“I can’t do this Crowley. I can’t continue – and I can’t let you go through this I – I’m losing my mind please _please I can’t please make it stop!_”

The angel fell to the ground with Crowley still wrapped around him. Aziraphale shook with the force of his tears. 

“_Make it stop please I can’t do this_,” he begged someone, anyone. The pain was too much. The changes were too much. The forgetting. Crowley having to endure it all. _Too much_.

“_Make it stop_.”

He felt Crowley’s tears staining his shirt.

He felt the fire roaring to life inside him and he struggled to wrestle it down. _Not now._

“I’m here Aziraphale, I’m here.” He felt Crowley murmur against his shoulder. 

“_Please_.”

“I think we need to get out of London angel. Make sure you’ve got a shop to come back to when…when you’re back.”

Aziraphale slowly calmed. His sobs turned into silent tears and he nodded.

“Good. I…I had a place in mind before this all…well it doesn’t matter now. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and then we can start packing.”

“Where?” Aziraphale looked at him with burning, baleful eyes.

Crowley’s smile was wistful.

“The South Downs.”

* * *

“_Oh boo hoo I’m a little bastard amnesiac please won’t someone end it all I can’t stand being such a mingin’ bellend for any longer!_”

“Not that that’s not fucking hysterical but could you please sit back down? You’re blocking my view.” 

“Fuck I wish I had brought popcorn.”

“You actually eat? Like a person?”

“It’s actually very good.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Well yes idiot it is, that’s kind of the point.”

“Whatever. But still, this has been some incredible work. We really should have done something like this sooner.”

“Did you see how he nearly ripped his throat out?!”

“Oh OH! And when he started crying when he realized? _Hilarious_.”

“I really hate for this to end but, do we have a timetable for when we reach the terminal point?” 

“Ummm…just a bit longer I think. Then the real show begins.”

“Well shit. Guess that means we should start gathering the troops.”

“Eh, just send a memo. We can enjoy this for a little bit longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But wait, what happened with Anathema? Is the note Michael received ever going to be significant? How much more of this can Aziraphale take? Are Gabriel and Beelzebub straight up Statler and Waldorf at this point? 
> 
> Find out next time on: Pain? In _my_ fanfic?


	9. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE NOTE:** I've added warning tags for Explicit Sexual Content and Attempted Sexual Assault. This chapter definitely doesn't wallow in sexual violence but if you are triggered by sexual assault in any way please skip this chapter and read the notes at the end, I'll summarize what happens for you so you don't need to worry about it:)

Crowley had been lying.

Not about everything. Not about what mattered. But he hadn’t been completely truthful.

The first month after Tadfield had been difficult. At least at the time he’d thought so. In retrospect it had been a dream.

Aziraphale had been in constant pain, the seizure episodes started, but Aziraphale had been there. There were moments of near peace when Crowley and his angel could curl up together, legs intertwined and shoulders touching. They talked about books and plays, they listened to music, Crowley even set up a TV so they could watch shows and movies. On a few good days they ventured outside to close by restaurants after Aziraphale convinced Crowley he’d be fine for an hour or so and that the fresh air would do him some good.

They touched and kissed and were achingly gentle with each other. They filled the time with words. With stories about themselves when the other hadn’t been around. With feelings they’d felt long ago that they’d buried deep out of fear.

“You were so dashing and brave. Not just at that moment, I’d always thought so, but when you saved my books…I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before. Your kindness was effervescent.”

“You cared. From the beginning. Not just about following the rules, about doing what’s right. You were this glowing, forbidden thing. I had a history of falling already, how could I help but do it again when you held up your wing for me?”

But as time passed, Crowley would feel Aziraphale stiffen next to him, solidifying in a way he wasn’t used to. The angel’s eyes would become unfocused, staring into the distance and unaware of the demon trying to get his attention. Sometimes it would precede an episode, sometimes it seemed like Aziraphale’s subconscious pulling away in an attempt at any kind of respite and he would simply sit unblinking for a time. Sometimes he would come to afterwards displaced in time.

“Oh! Forgive me, did I forget a meeting today?” 

“Crowley what are you thinking showing up here? I’m expecting a performance review any minute I can’t be seen with you!”

“We really ought to get a move on to the Dowling’s, I’m sure they expected us an hour ago.”

“Crowley hello! Look at this lovely bookshop isn’t it marvelous? You don’t happen to know the owner do you?”

Every time was like a knife to the heart. At first Crowley would correct him and explain what was happening, but it only served to make the angel upset. There was much denial and panic and tears. Eventually Crowley just played along until Aziraphale clicked back into place, completely unaware that he’d been lost in his memories. It didn’t feel wrong to spare the angel this additional pain, so Crowley lied.

It wasn’t until month three that Aziraphale started coming back to himself missing large swathes of time. The angel had been in an utter panic, frantically grasping at Crowley, trying desperately to understand where and when he was. He’d materialized his wings instinctively and flared them out in defensiveness. He hadn’t meant to, Crowley knew he hadn’t, but Aziraphale’s wing swung out and smashed into the demon’s chest. It threw him across the room and Crowley crumpled under the weight of the bookcase that fell on top of him.

Aziraphale had been a wreck. He’d thrown himself against the bookcase and lifted it off the demon with far more force than he should have had, launching it through the roof. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to I’m sorry.” Aziraphale repeated, breathless. 

Crowley had been fine, apart from being dazed and a few broken ribs that he healed quickly. But that didn’t stop Aziraphale from begging for his forgiveness and gazing at him with a mixture of fear and despair. Until he forgot a week later and it was like it had never happened.

Crowley continued doggedly on. He made tea, he ordered in, he held Aziraphale when he cried. Crowley only left the bookshop a hand full of times and even then it was brief. To water his plants, to have his mail forwarded, to scream at the sky. He really did try to stay calm in Aziraphale’s presence. But every so often he would lose control and start yelling or punch the wall or cry in the bathroom. And every time Aziraphale would be there to comfort him. Every time. Until he wasn’t.

The first time it happened, the major difference was the air pressure. It felt like a thunderstorm about to break. Crowley stepped out of the bathroom, wiping his eyes under his glasses with his sleeve and heaving a deep sigh when he felt it. He’d turned to find Aziraphale sitting in his chair looking at him with an expression Crowley had never seen on the angel’s face before and therefore couldn’t identify.

“Y – Yes?”

“You could keep it down you know.” Aziraphale’s voice was hard and low. His eyes were glowing embers.

Crowley was shocked into stillness and said nothing. This just made the pressure worse.

“Don’t look at me like that. You think I don’t know what a taxing burden I am? Having to be looked after day after day? You want to add to that guilt by allowing me to hear you mourning what isn’t even gone yet?”

Crowley recognized the expression now. It was contempt. 

“I’m _right here_. I still know who you are. I still know who I am,” his lips curled into a snarl. “I still know what that _fucking bitch_ in the sky did to me.”

It was like a shock to Crowley’s system. Aziraphale would never talk like that. How _dare_ this thing make him act this way.

“_Stop it_,” Crowley hissed with barely contained rage. He pulled his glasses off to reveal his golden-blown eyes. “Think about what you just said. Think about how you’re talking to me right now.”

Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. He pulled himself to his feet and closed the distance between them with leonine grace he shouldn’t have had.

“Why? Does it bother you?” Aziraphale reached out and traced the side of Crowley’s face with a finger, leaving a line of soot in its wake. “And how do you think _I_ feel?”

Crowley shuddered and shuffled backwards. His eyes darted downwards and he worked desperately to stay calm, heart thundering in his ears.

“Please don’t,” he whispered.

And just like that, the pressure popped and the air felt lighter.

“Oh.”

Crowley’s eyes shot up to see Aziraphale staring at him in abject horror. 

The angel promptly vomited at his feet and collapsed.

Aziraphale never remembered these moments. And Crowley never told him about them. 

The worst happened five months in. Crowley’s nerves were stretched thin. He was exhausted physically and emotionally. He lay sprawled on the bed, long limbs hanging off the sides, staring at the ceiling in a rare moment of mental quiet. Then the air pressure dropped.

Lifting his head, he saw Aziraphale standing in the doorway.

“Crowley…” His voice was rough, his breathing ragged. Crowley rushed to standing.

“Yeah?” 

Aziraphale’s eyes raked over Crowley and he licked his lips. The angel opened his mouth, only to shut it, words failing him. His eyes glowed orange in the dark.

Before Crowley could react, Aziraphale had him pinned to the wall, hands fisting his shirt. The angel growled low and dangerous and Crowley shivered at the feeling of the vibration against his chest. Their mouths smashed together and Aziraphale shoved his tongue into Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley knew he should shove him away, but he felt his body respond and he couldn’t help but bite down hard on Aziraphale’s lower lip and rub his rising erection against the angel. He could feel the lust coming off of the angel in waves, unhindered and hungry. Aziraphale moaned and lifted Crowley bodily away from the wall and threw him onto the bed. Crowley yelped and tried to get up only for Aziraphale to lunge forward in the space between his legs and push him down. The angel lay his full body weight on the demon and lessened as it was, it still made Crowley wheeze.

“Ah …that hurts it – “ But Crowley was silenced by another onslaught from Aziraphale who rutted against him with fervor. He grabbed Crowley’s wrists and pinned them above his head. He bit the demon’s neck and sucked at the pinpricks of blood his teeth drew.

“Ow stop – don’t – “

Aziraphale licked a line from the edge of Crowley’s pants and up his exposed happy trail where his shirt rutted up. Crowley’s hips bucked against his will. 

"Stop please I - "

Aziraphale gripped Crowley's wrists with one hands and undid his belt with a flick of his other hand. He palmed Crowley's cock through his jeans before reaching for the zipper.

“_Mine_,” the angel growled in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

Crowley gasped and shook his head clear.

“I SAID STOP!”

He ripped his arms free and forcefully shoved Aziraphale off of him.

Loud, heavy breathing filled the room as Crowley collected himself. He willed his arousal down and slowly sat up from the bed. Aziraphale sat on the floor, legs sprawled and erection apparent. His face was a torrent of anger and disappointment and confusion.

“But…you want this. I could feel it. The lust coming off you was…_incredible_.” Aziraphale spoke without looking at Crowley.

“It doesn’t matter what you feel or what you think I want,” Crowley snarled. “You _ask_ first. And you _stop_ when I say so. From now on you do not _touch me_ without my consent. You – you’re supposed to _love_ me! Do you even realize what you almost fucking did?!”

And suddenly Crowley was on the floor, pinned between Aziraphale’s legs as the angel wrapped his hands around his throat and squeezed.

“DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT! DON’T LECTURE ME DON’T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT! I WOULDN’T! OF COURSE I LO – I WOULD – I WOULD NEVER –“

Then it was like a bomb went off. 

Crowley sucked in air and coughed at the sudden lack of pressure on his windpipe. Crashing and banging from downstairs made the walls shake and had Crowley clambering to his feet and nearly falling down the stairs after Aziraphale.

The angel was in a rage and destroying everything in sight, screaming all the while. He slammed his fists into walls and ripped books apart. His face was a mask of fury with golden tears streaming down his cheeks.

“THIS IS WRONG! I’M WRONG! I SHOULDN’T FEEL THIS WAY BUT I! CAN’T! STOP!”

He roared and ripped his desk in half. Crowley fretted along the edge of the room, trying to find an opening to stop the rampaging angel. Aziraphale stepped in front of the bathroom entrance and Crowley saw him rear back, then launch forward.

“LOOK AT YOU! YOU MONSTER WHAT DID YOU DO?!?”

The crash of glass breaking preceded Aziraphale stumbling out, broken wings dragging behind him. He slammed to his knees sobbing, tearing at his face.

And then the pressure popped. 

“Please _God please_,” he sobbed.

“Oh no,” Crowley breathed. “What did you do to yourself?”

And Crowley found himself with the angel Aziraphale again. They comforted each other and when asked if Aziraphale had been himself, if he’d hurt Crowley at all, Crowley shoved down all of his feelings and did what was expected of a demon.

He lied.

* * *

The world came back in fits and starts. It was sounds first. Indistinct, garbled noise and the odd full word. Then light. Then color. And finally shapes as the world solidified and Anathema found herself in a bed, attached to an IV, in a room full of flowers. A snort, from her right drew her attention to Newt, her Newt, fully asleep with his head in his hand, drooling down his sleeve. She felt a rush of affection towards this absurd man and reached out to grab his hand.

Newt jolted awake and gaped at her.

“Anathema! Oh my god! Oh my – oh thank god,” he lunged forward and hugged her tight. “I was so worried I didn’t know what to do! You said not to call a doctor but I had to it had been so long I – “

“Long?” Anathema croaked, then coughed. Newt quickly jumped up and grabbed her a glass of water which she downed immediately. “How long?”

“Five months.”

“WHAT?!”

“The doctors said it was a coma. But you were breathing on your own alright, so they just hooked you up for hydration and you know – nutrition I guess. I can’t tell you how – I’m just – “ Newt’s eyes welled up with tears.

Anathema pulled him back to her and hugged him tight.

“It’s ok honey. I’m ok. I’m so sorry,” she said softly.

“What happened Anathema? I saw the circle and the candles. It was definitely witch stuff right?”

“Yeah.” Her brow furrowed. There were jumbled images in her mind that she knew she had to sort out. “Yeah it was witch stuff.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

Anathema nodded and he pulled back to look at her. She felt the fear starting to creep back in.

“I don’t remember the how. Or the why – there’s steps missing in the middle but – I remember the end result.”

“I’m sorry darling I don’t – what result?”

“Armageddon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **SUMMARY:** So basically Crowley's been lying. Aziraphale _has_ been hurting him unintentionally over the past five months as he's deteriorated further. He accidentally hit Crowley with his wing and broke his ribs when Aziraphale first started losing time. And more recently Aziraphale experiences personality changes in bursts, accompanied by a drop in air pressure. This is mostly characterized by Aziraphale's regular emotions or fear and guilt being replaced by anger. The worst it's gotten is five months in when Aziraphale becomes rough with Crowley and pushes him around while they're kissing and getting aroused. While Crowley's initially a bit in to it against his better judgement, Aziraphale gets too rough and ignores him when Crowley asks him to stop. In the end Crowley has to physically shove Aziraphale off him. Aziraphale attacks Crowley but then forces himself away and destroys the bookshop in a rage. He rips at his own face and then comes back to himself - revealing this is how he got to the point at the end of the previous chapter not knowing what happened to the shop or his face.
> 
> Anathema wakes up in the hospital five months later with Newt by her side. She tells him she needs to figure out the how and why but she knows that Armageddon is coming.
> 
> * * *
> 
> I hope y'all understand why this chapter is the way it is. To me it seemed like the natural progression, given how untethered Aziraphale is and with more demon aspects kicking in, good emotions like empathy and love would get replaced and mistaken in his mind for power and lust. It's rough and uncomfortable and it's gonna be hard for a while, but know this: I hate grimdark endings.
> 
> There is always hope.


	10. It Will Rise In Perfect Light

It was late October. The air was crisp and cold. Fog rolled in from the ocean and slipped between the rolling green hills to cover the small white cottages nestled between land and sea. Crowley stood at the edge of their front yard where he could see the waves crashing against the cliffs. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. The dull roar of the cresting surf soothed him and allowed his mind to drift.

He could imagine a world in which he and his angel had moved here together simply because they wanted to. In what was essentially their retirement, they could do as they pleased. Crowley would plant a garden out back. Aziraphale would open up a small bookshop for the village. They would walk along the beach, hand in hand, and watch the sunset turn the sky shades of pink. They would cuddle by the fireplace under an ugly tartan blanket and listen to the patter of rain against the windows. They would love and be loved. They would be happy. Maybe if he imagined hard enough. It had worked in the past, maybe if he imagined it with all the strength he had left.

A crash from inside followed by a high-pitched whine knocked Crowley out of his reverie. The demon spared one last wistful look at the ocean, then went back inside the sparsely furnished cottage.

Aziraphale was backed up against the entryway to the bedroom, turning this way and that trying to use the doorjamb to rub against his wings. The bones had finally healed and new feathers were growing in slowly, itching and piercing on their way in. Aziraphale was desperately trying to scratch where he couldn’t reach, grasping at his back and whimpering. 

“Hush angel. Stop wiggling let me help you,” Crowley soothed.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley as he entered, but there was a lack of full recognition in his orange eyes. The angel seemed to know that he knew Crowley, that he could trust him, but nothing more. Although it was hard to be sure as Aziraphale had stopped speaking weeks ago.

Crowley slowly approached him with his hands out, placating. Aziraphale pushed himself away from the door and took a timid step towards him. He seemed… embarrassed. He clasped his hands together in front of his stomach in a movement that was so very Aziraphale that Crowley had to blink back sudden tears. Crowley’s breath hitched when he noticed gold blood dripping from the angel’s hands.

“Darling, what did you do?” he admonished, causing Aziraphale to cringe inward. “It’s ok sweet thing I’m not mad just – just come here.” Crowley gently grabbed the angel’s hands and unclasped them to get a better look. He hissed under his breath. _There was always more. It could never just fucking stop already could it._

The black staining had finally seemed to stop spreading, fading from sooty black to pale white in a gradient ending just below his elbows. But now Aziraphale’s previously immaculately manicured hands ended in vicious-looking black claws. These were no longer the hands of a kindly bookkeeper, but something meant to rip and kill. Yet more softness stripped away.

Crowley looked up from Aziraphale’s hands to find orange eyes watching him with unease, like he expected to be yelled at.

“It’s ok I’m not mad,” he repeated. “This is – it’s new huh?”

The angel just shrunk back in response and tried to pull his hands away.

“No! No don’t worry.” Crowley rubbed his thumbs over the angel’s knuckles. “I’ve seen much worse. Trust me. At least you don’t have a toad on your head.” 

Aziraphale huffed in what Crowley desperately hoped was a laugh, even a bitter one. That would mean his angel wasn’t completely gone yet. 

“Will you turn around and let me help?”

With another uneasy look, Aziraphale turned and spread his ragged wings out. Rivulets of blood dripped down his back where he’d tried to scratch. Fluffy black down covered the bones and shining black coverts were starting to come in among some dull white stragglers.

“Ah I see the problem. Well I can help with that.” Crowley guided him to the bed and Aziraphale intuitively lay flat on his stomach. “Good, now stay here gimme a sec.”

Crowley ran to the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit he now had to rely on given he couldn’t miracle Aziraphale healed. He padded back in and crawled up onto the bed. Aziraphale flinched when Crowley laid a hand on his back between his wings.

“Sshh I’ve got you.”

He cleaned the wounds and dressed them, just as he’d done for Aziraphale’s face before they’d left London. Now all that was left from that incident was the spike of fear Crowley felt whenever Aziraphale looked at him a certain way. By the time Crowley moved on to his wings, the angel had relaxed into the bed. Crowley carefully plucked the few remaining white feathers and began carding through the new ones, making sure they lay how they were supposed to as the secondaries and primaries came in. He couldn’t help but notice how these new feathers caught the light when they moved, shining purple and blue like an oil slick. Crowley hated that he thought it was pretty.

“Feels good,” a gruff voice from beneath him said.

Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. He lay down next to the angel so their faces were a breath apart, but Aziraphale’s eyes were closed.

“…Aziraphale?”

There was no response.

“Angel, what’s my name?”

Aziraphale’s eyes opened languidly. His brow furrowed and he growled under his breath.

“Angel?”

Instead of responding, Aziraphale shifted so he could curl up against Crowley’s body, his forehead pressed against the demon’s chest. The demon lay absolutely still, fear coursing through him. But the only further movement Aziraphale made was to wrap his arms around himself in a kind of self-hug. Carefully, haltingly, Crowley draped his arms around the angel and let his hands lightly rest on his back.

“I know I should know.” Aziraphale’s voice was rough from disuse, but it was also lower in a way Crowley knew was changed. He sounded irritated and tired, his constant anger simmering beneath exhaustion. “I know I know you.”

It had been death by a thousand cuts since it started. Crowley was sure this was the thousandth. 

“Do you know who you are?”

“I’m…an angel. Was.” Aziraphale shuddered. “Everything hurts.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Will it stop soon?”

He couldn’t bare this.

“I think so.”

Aziraphale nuzzled further into Crowley.

“You’re really sad. I can feel it.”

“Yes. I am.”

“I don’t like that. You should stop.”

Tears slipped silently down Crowley’s face. He curled around Aziraphale and placed a kiss in his dark grey curls.

“I’ll try.”

“Good,” the angel hummed. “It’s unpleasant.”

Crowley pulled him closer and squeezed his eyes shut. He held Aziraphale and imagined. With all his will the demon saw what could be, what should have been. He created galaxies, he would force reality to bend. But hours passed and he felt no difference. The falling angel still burned hot in his arms, breathing slow and shivering in pain while he slept. 

“I tried angel,” Crowley whispered. “I thought I could fix it. I promised I would. I’m sorry for letting you down.” He muffled a sob into Aziraphale’s hair. “I’m sorry I couldn’t catch you.”

Clouds gathered overhead, and the demon Crowley silently cried himself to sleep while holding the angel Aziraphale for one more night.

* * *

Anathema sat cross-legged on the floor with her eyes closed. Incense burned and smoke curled up into the air around her. She frowned and groaned in frustration, pressing a fist to her forehead.

“Come on you can do this _think_.”

There were definite feelings she could pull from her visions. Fear. Love. Incandescent rage. Resolve so fierce it clanged around in her head like steel striking steel. But nothing solid was coming back to her. Anathema leaned back and stared out the window where storm clouds loomed. Something big was coming and she had to be ready. This was different from before. It seemed humanity was being kept on the fringes this go around. This was a chess match between two sides with no potential interference from some third party. 

_Screw that._ Anathema wouldn’t just let her world hang in the balance without even trying to save it.

_Balance._

“HOLY SHIT!” Anathema scrambled to her feet and dashed out of the bedroom.

“Jesus!” Newt managed to keep from spilling the tea he’d been bringing to Anathema as she smacked into his chest. “What? What happened?”

“I get it! I think I – it’s a redundancy! Oh my god it’s just – they’re being treated like pawns!”

“Anathema – “

“And us! _Pfffttt_ we don’t even factor in! We’re just the board the game’s played on who gives a crap about the board THEY DON’T!”

“What in the hell – “

“Don’t know the how,” Anathema started combing through her bookshelves. “But I think I know the why.” Her fingers frantically traced over book spines and tossed large tombs aside to look behind them. Newt gaped in confusion as she raced across the room to another bookcase and continued her mad search. “Shit! I can’t find it!”

“Wha – What are you looking for?”

“My Bible! I only have one it – it’s old, leather, gold embossing? It’s an heirloom shit did I lose another heirloom?!”

“Darling it’s there.”

“What?”

“Right there.” Newt gestured with the mug to the coffee table covered in Anathema’s notes and drawings from trying to sort out what was in her head.

Anathema launched herself onto the table and dug through the mounds of notes to find the Bible lying open, pages facing down and ancient spine cracking.

“Did you put this here?” 

“Yeah I – it was on the floor the day I found you in the kitchen. Wasn’t sure if you’d been reading it or – I didn’t want to dog-ear it so I just…put it there?”

Curiosity outweighed her irritation as she picked up the tomb and flipped it over.

“Ephesians.” Her brow furrowed.

“Saw that. I thought all the chapters were named after people?” Newt stepped forward to peek over her shoulder.

“Books. Not chapters.” She poured over the pages in front of her. “Some of them are people yeah, like the apostles but this is….”

Anathema’s finger paused on the page and she stared.

“What?” 

“The divine plan.” Anathema shoved it at Newt, who still managed to keep the mug from spilling and held the book on his forearms as the witch sprinted away.

Baffled, Newt squinted at the text.

“_For we wrestle not against flesh and blood_,” he read aloud, “_but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places_.”

“We have to go!” Anathema swept back into the room, slamming on a wide-brimmed hat and frantically typing on her phone. 

“Wh – Ok where are we going?”

Anathema tossed him his car keys and everything in his arms fell to the floor with a crash as he reflexively caught them.

“London. Grab your coat, a storm’s coming.”

* * *

Gabriel reached upwards in a deep, luxurious stretch and groaned.

“Ugh alright. This is taking too long I’ve gotta go.” He pulled out his phone and tsked at it. “They’re getting antsy and we can’t have any false starts. Not this time.”

The archangel pocketed the device and turned to find Beelzebub grinning oddly at him with a cocked brow.

“What’s that look for?”

“You realize it won’t matter right?”

“I’m the General, I need to be there. Maybe things work differently downstairs,” Gabriel scoffed, “but _we_ have something called order. _Discipline_. It’s what makes an exceptional army as opposed to…whatever it is you have. Drooling hoards I’d assume.”

“See that right there? Underestimating your opponent. That’s always been your side’s weakness. That and the self-righteousness. And terrible dress sense.”

Hurt flit across Gabriel’s face and was immediately replaced with disgust.

“Heaven has no weakness,” he sneered. “And we _are_ righteous. That’s why we’ll win.”

Lightning lit up the viewing portal behind them and thunder cracked. Beelzebub’s smile widened into something sharp.

“That’ll be the scale tipping in my favor. Gotta jet, been a blast! I’ll tell my new universe ending war machine you said hi.”

And with a flip of the bird she melted through the floor, leaving an ashen Gabriel to snap the portal closed and launch up into the heavens.

* * *

The screaming was unbearable. Crowley had awoken to Aziraphale stretched taut, back arching and chest pulling towards the sky. Unfurled wings knocked the demon back hard against the wall.

“Angel!” He tried to move towards him, but some force held him back against the wall. “No! Let me go! Let me help!” Crowley thrashed desperately to no avail.

The wind howled outside, thunder shook the roof. Aziraphale sobbed and yelled as his back arched further and he began to glow. It was a light within him that grew brighter and brighter and filled every corner of his body. Until it started seeping away from his limbs, down from his head, pooling into his chest. Where the light left, fire crackled up from under his skin and roared outwards.

“NO! NOT YET NO!” 

Crowley furiously pulled, neck straining, scales shifting, but he was held firm.

Aziraphale’s eyes were blown wide, frozen and staring into oblivion. The light inside his chest pulsed as its intensity increased and the fire tore across his body, burning through clothes and setting the bed alight.

It made Crowley’s eyes burn but he couldn’t look away.

“PLEASE!” He begged. He groveled. He would’ve fallen to his knees and clasped his hands together if he could. “DON’T TAKE HIM! DON’T DO THIS PLEASE I’LL DO ANYTHING!”

Everything was burning. The bedroom was a tinderbox and nothing escaped the hellfire’s hunger. Crowley could no longer make out Aziraphale through the light. The air pressure dropped and Crowley couldn’t breathe. The screaming reached a fever pitch and turned into a deep-chested roar of agony and fury.

“AZIRAPHALE!”

The white light exploded out of the angel’s chest and shot upwards. Crowley shut his eyes and shielded his face. The roof split open and the cottage rocked with the force. The light travelled up with the lightning and disappeared into the black. 

The raging storm slowed. The wind calmed. The fire burned low as gentle rain fell through the exposed ceiling. 

And the newborn demon crumpled to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** INTERMISSION **
> 
> We've reached the halfway point! Maybe a bit over but near enough! It's a bit of a happy accident because we're coming up on a holiday weekend here in the states so I'll be MIA as my parents are coming to visit. That is to say, I probably won't be able to post another chapter until this time next week.
> 
> I hope you've all enjoyed this so far. Everyone has been so lovely and kind I can't tell you how much it means to me.


	11. Balance

_Relief._

He breathed in and out. 

_Absolute relief._

There was an absence. Something he’d grown accustomed to no longer wrapped around his bones like barbed wire. He took stock of himself as he breathed. He still had arms and legs. A part of him was pinned beneath his body and another draped across his side. Wings. So what was missing?

_Pain. No more pain._

His eyes fluttered open. Everything was a blurry mess of darkness. He blinked hard and the world shifted and brightened into shades of blue. He realized he was lying in darkness on a floor surrounded by smoldering wood.

He slowly moved, rolling onto his stomach to free his wing and placing his palms flat on the ground. His hands were soot black and ended in lethal claws. With a curl of his fingers the claws dug into the wooden floor like it was butter. Interesting.

With another deep breath, he pushed himself up, only to tip forward onto his hands again. His sense of balance was off, his head felt heavy. He growled in frustration and tried again, this time successfully kneeling and resting on his heels. He sighed and stretched his wings behind him.

He felt good. _He felt wonderful._

A groan to his side had him on his feet and baring his teeth with a snarl before he could process what he was doing. A dark shape lay amongst the rubble, moving slightly beneath the wooden beam that had it pinned to the ground. His wings flared in a sign of aggression, but the shape didn’t move further. When it became clear whatever it was didn’t pose a threat, his wings relaxed. He could smell that the thing was alive. It smelled like damp earth and leather and something sweet he couldn’t name. An undercurrent of darkness ran beneath the smell, something that sparked with fire.

_Another demon._

He crept towards it. The unaccustomed weight on his head made him list to the side and stumble into the remnants of a wall. Anger burned behind his eyes, but his curiosity outweighed it and he went down to his hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way.

With a shove, he freed it from the beam. He sniffed at the other demon again and poked its shoulder. It didn’t move, which irritated him. He roughly grabbed it and pulled so the demon lay flat on its back and its head lolled to face him. He felt something in his chest stutter.

The demon was wearing broken glasses. Its eyes were closed, face slack. A large gash ran the length of its forehead and blood oozed from it and into its hair. He grasped its chin and tilted it up and sideways. A mark of a snake lay next to one ear, curling down the side of its face. It made him…feel lighter. Seeing the snake. He traced it with a claw and noticed the black line he’d left on its skin.

_Mine._

A feeling of possessiveness coursed through him with such intensity that he growled with the force of it. His wings curled around him to shelter the demon from the rain still drizzling through the shattered roof. He glared at the wound on its head and felt energy trickle out from his core. It slipped through the hand still holding the demon’s chin and pulsed into the wound, healing it with a dull glow of orange light.

The demon gasped into consciousness and scrambled backwards. The glasses fell to the floor, revealing golden snake eyes, wildly taking in the destruction until they landed on him. He didn’t understand the face it made. But he liked its eyes. Very much.

_Fear._

He could smell it in the air, a copper tinge that left a cloying taste on his tongue. It sent a thrill up his spine. He snorted and shook his head, disoriented by the sensation. He squinted at the demon and crept closer. 

_FEAR._

It spiked as he moved. It was coming from the demon. Well that wouldn’t do. Would it? It felt good, he realized. That metallic electricity running under his skin felt marvelous. But the face the demon was making was unpleasant. As were the noises it kept making. How did he make it stop?

He sat back and cocked his head. The more he looked at the demon the more he didn’t like the expression it had. 

_Crying._ The word whispered through his mind. _It’s crying._

_SADNESS._

The feeling roiled like a storm at sea. He shuddered as it filled a part of him that he suddenly realized was empty. He was empty. Something else was missing. _What was missing WHAT WAS MISSING?_

Panic and fury lodged in his throat. The demon’s eyes widened and it crawled further backwards away from him which only stoked his anger. With a roar he swung round and slammed into the adjacent wall. His claws tore through wood, his wings sliced through fabric. Something had been taken from him and left him empty left him broken left him wrong. 

_HOW DARE SHE_ the thought screamed through his mind and the Earth shook. The ground cracked beneath his claws where steam and hellish light escaped. The storm overhead howled back to life. He couldn’t think, his vision had turned foggy and red. He felt too big for his skin and fiery energy bloomed around him. 

A vice-like grip wrapped around him and squeezed hard. It pinned his wings down and he lost balance, slamming down onto the floor. He clawed at the thing until it pinned his arms down too. Pressure around his throat increased, his vision grew spotty. The light beneath him faded, the earth stilled, and the storm finally ceased.

His limbs relaxed and he whimpered, overwhelmed and raw like an exposed nerve. The grip lessened and a giant serpent uncoiled from his neck to look him in the face. It had the same golden eyes as the demon.

He struggled weakly in the snake’s grip and desperately tried to turn away from its gaze. Its tongue flicked in and out, tasting the air. He had to break free, he had to escape, it would hurt him. He saw the deep red gashes on its body, it would hurt him like he had hurt it. 

It hissed at him and inched forward. He flinched back with a whine and it pushed forward to gently, cautiously, touch its snout to his forehead.

_Sadness._

He let out a trembling breath. It _was_ the demon. He closed his eyes.

_Apples._ He realized. _The sweet smell was apples._

* * *

“I received Word. At the beginning of all this. It was brief.”

“What did it say?”

“_Balance._”

Gabriel grinned. He knew he’d been enacting Her will all along. How could he not be? He was her messenger after all.

“Well I think that’s pretty clear,” Sandalphon droned. “The cosmic scales have shifted. Heaven and Hell are no longer in balance so our hand is being forced, as it were.”

“Just as the coming of the Antichrist should have done,” sneered Uriel. “But this time without the stink of humans to ruin everything.”

Michael clasped her hands together, lips pursed. She seemed to mull something over before speaking aloud.

“Not that he didn’t deserve it and not that this doesn’t put everything back on course but…it does seem like the Apocalypse always starts by giving them the advantage. Don’t you think?”

Gabriel glared at her. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, with the Antichrist it’s literally Satan’s son so – meant to be on his side. Then with this – now they have more numbers than we do.”

“By one!” Uriel exclaimed.

“Yes, please, do tell us how a single fallen Principality gives Hell the advantage over the might of Heaven?” Sandalphon chuckled like he’d told a wonderful joke and wiped away a tear. “Oh Michael, forgive me but that is rather amusing.”

Michael gave a half-hearted laugh and nodded. “I just thought it was worth noting. For…strategy purposes.”

“Ah well that’s thinking ahead! Come, let’s make our rounds through the choirs. They should all be in place by now.”

With that, Sandalphon and Uriel nodded a goodbye and departed through an opulent white archway. Gabriel watched them go then turned to find Michael’s expression had fallen.

“This actually worries you doesn’t it?”

She bit her lower lip in thought. “I know it’s absurd. But…I can’t help but feel like I’ve forgotten something important.”

“Michael,” Gabriel grabbed her by the shoulders and smiled reassuringly. “You’ve forgotten nothing! It’s probably just nerves. Besides, even if Hell was being given an advantage, which they aren’t, it would only be because they need all the help they can get to have even a chance of winning.”

“You’re probably right,” she sighed. “I better join the others.”

“You do that. Be along in minute.” 

Michael smiled faintly and flew off. As soon as she’d gone, Gabriel’s smile slid off and was replaced with a furrowed brow. He gazed out the penthouse window, arms crossed, and tried to pinpoint the sense of unease he felt.

“Forgetting something….”

He shook off the feeling with a frown and left to join his fellow archangels.

* * *

“_Shit_,” Anathema grabbed Newt and yanked him back around the corner from A.Z. Fell And Co. 

“Ow! What?”

“_Shh!_”

Anathema held her finger up to her mouth, then pointed. Newt carefully poked his head around and saw two men creeping around the building, trying the door and looking through the windows.

“Who’re they?”

“Demons,” Anathema whispered. “They’re here for Aziraphale.”

“Why?”

“He’s a demon now.”

“_What?!_”

The shorter demon with the pointy hair turned in their direction.

“SHH!” Anathema slapped a hand over his mouth and muttered a simple incantation. The demon’s gaze slid past them and returned to the book shop.

“Jesus that was close.”

Newt mumbled a “sorry” from behind her hand. He lowered it with a worried look.

“Should we distract them? Get a message to Crowley so they can leave?”

“No need. They’re not in there.” She squinted at the building. “I don’t feel them. Their residual energies are really diminished so they’ve been gone awhile.”

The demons seemed to come to the same conclusion themselves and started walking towards them. Anathema pulled Newt closer to her.

“Stay _absolutely_ still,” she whispered.

“Didn’t Beelzebub say they’d be here?” The shorter demon asked. 

“She jus’ said go get ‘im, didn’t say where!” The taller demon said. They moved right past the corner, unaware of the shielded pair next to them. Newt squinted, it looked like the taller demon had a frog on its head.

“What, you didn’t check for their auras?”

“Shut up, I went to where they usually are, save some time! Fuck it, gimme a mo’.”

Before he could do anything, the ground rumbled beneath them. Newt and Anathema grabbed onto each other for balance.

“You’d better hurry mate, feels like he just woke up.”

“Yeah yeah,” the frog demon lifted his hands towards his temples.

“Anathema,” Newt breathed, “Can you do this for them? Hide them?”

She looked back at the book shop. “There should be enough of their auras. Yes.”

And before Newt could blink, Anathema dashed out into the open and slapped a hand onto the door. She began muttering under her breath and the wind whipped through her hair.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

Newt’s blood ran cold as the smaller demon noticed Anathema. The frog demon grumbled, eyes closed.

“I said shut it Legion, I’m concentrating to find them.”

The smaller demon, Legion, had started making a beeline towards Anathema. Newt steeled himself.

“No, Hastur, I mean – “ But before Legion could finish, Newt had launched himself at the small demon. Newt wrapped a hand around his mouth and used his momentum to plow them both into an adjacent alley.

“Tha’s better, now be quiet so I can think,” Hastur grimaced.

There was a brief flash of bright green from under Anathema’s palm and warmth flowed out from her and into the world to find her targets. 

Hastur opened his eyes and cursed. “I can’t see them! Son of a bitch must’ve –“

Anathema pulled away from the door with a prideful grin and turned to find a bewildered demon staring at her.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Couple a upstart humans looks like.” Legion came out from the alleyway dragging an unconscious Newt behind him by the collar. “Think they went and fucked us over. Can’t even smell ‘em on Earth at all anymore.”

Hastur sniffed at the air, then bared his teeth at Anathema. “Nah. This one don’t smell all human.” 

Anathema was frozen in place. The demon had fathomless black eyes that bored into her as he came to stand a breath away. 

“Magic eh?"

He leaned in close and forced her back against the door.

“You an’ your boyfriend have a lot of explainin’ to do little witch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the back half everybody! As much fun as I had over the long weekend, boy did I miss writing this thing. You're gonna start getting some answers, some realizations, some....happenings??
> 
> In my interpretation, Falling is basically unplugging a crazy powerful powerplant so Aziraphale is the equivalent of sparking cables, crossed wires, and loud, blaring alarms that make it really hard to think. So picture that, and then all the while the ungodly dark matter powered back up generator is booting up. FUN TIMES!
> 
> Thank you as always for the kudos and comments I love them and I love you <3


	12. Fallout

It was dark and damp. She could hear the drip of water but nothing else besides their own breathing. Anathema had been standing in the street one minute, then the next she was sitting across from a still unconscious Newt, both tied to chairs with hands behind their backs. 

“Newt,” she whispered and flinched when her voice echoed. Anathema could only make out his shape, but she didn’t sense any movement.

“_Newt! Wake up._”

“Oh he’ll stay lights out until we need ‘im love.”

The voice came from right next to her ear and she hated how she flinched away.

“Now. I’ll make this easy for ya. Reverse whatever spell you did to hide those idiots and we’ll all return to where we should be and you can go on doin’ whatever it is humans do. Or...”

Legion walked into her field of vision and stood next to Newt. He grinned and placed a hand on Newt’s shoulder. Smoke rose from where he made contact and the smell of burning plastic wafted into the air.

“…we melt your boy here down to the bone.”

Anathema didn’t react. She couldn’t, at least not externally. Inside she was screaming at them to let Newt go.

She cocked an eyebrow instead.

“What makes you think I care what happens to him?”

Hastur’s sinister grin froze in what would have been a comical caricature of surprise if the stakes weren’t so high. Legion, however, scoffed.

“Please. You were there together. This one here jumped me just to get me away from you.”

“Well yes, he cares about me a great deal. Why would you think it goes both ways?”

Legion had removed his hand from Newt and took a step towards her. Anathema suppressed a cheer.

“Nah, nah that’s a lie innit?” Hastur shook a finger at her. “Think you can get one over on us? You can’t save you’re little boyfriend, witch.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s – “ Anathema glimpsed Newt stirring behind the two demons. He let out a soft groan and Legion began to turn back towards him. “MY FAMILIAR!”

Legion aborted his turn and raised an eyebrow at her. Hastur snorted.

“It’s times like this I miss the middle ages,” Hastur chuckled. “Least they had proper witches.”

“You do know familiars are supposed to be in animal form yeah?” Legion asked, condescension dripping from his words.

Newt’s eyes fluttered open and he took in the scene before him with wide-eyed horror.

“He was! But I lived in the city, you see, and my apartment didn’t really allow for pets so I uh – turned my newt into a human.” 

Newt raised his eyebrows at her, to which she quickly winked as the demons exchanged a baffled look.

“You…you can’t do that,” Hastur said, though his voice betrayed how unsure he was.

“Sure I can! I can do lots of things. Hide supernatural entities. Turn animals into people and back.” Anathema made pointed eye contact with Newt. “Break out of these bonds and find out what you’re up to.”

Anathema twisted a hand behind her back and thought the words with all her might. She’d never done a spell nonverbally before but needs must. The two demons regarded her like a bomb they weren’t one hundred percent sure was a dud or not.

“Come on Hastur, you know this is bullshit. Besides, even if it’s true, it’s still just human magic. Let’s just call Beelzebub and have her break the spell.”

The ropes holding Newt disintegrated. Wild-eyed, he carefully stood up from the chair and stared at Anathema and shook his head.

“You wanna make tha’ call? Be my guest. There’s only one a me so I’m not so thrilled to be the barer of bad news. Won’t matter to you none.”

Anathema smiled softly at Newt and mouthed _go_. Newt stared at her, frozen by indecision. _I’ll be fine_ she said without words. _I’ll come back_ he said with his eyes. Along with _Don’t make me do this. I don’t want to leave you. I love you._

“Fine, be that way. They’ve probably already gone and gathered the nine circles. Probably best to rip the bandage off and tell her before the whole thing kicks off. Would be worse to stop in the middle of Armageddon because our linchpin is missing than just waiting a bit longer until we find it.”  
Newt slowly backed away from the demons, hand covering his nose and mouth in fear that his breathing was too loud.

“Yeah yeah, whatever just get a move on.”

With a parting sneer, Legion walked out an adjacent hallway. Hastur turned back towards Anathema, giving Newt the window he needed to sprint after Legion.

“Now, as we was sayin’. No human magic, even witchy magic, is all tha’ much compared to Heaven and Hell love. So instead of torture for a purpose, how ‘bout I have some fun with your boy newt jus’ for the hell of it.”

Hastur turned back towards the now empty chair and emitted a high pitched shriek. 

“Oh no. Have you misplaced something?” Anathema replicated Hastur’s earlier wicked grin. “Seems to be a pattern with you lot doesn’t it?”

The frog on Hastur’s head reared up and it’s throat bulged outwards, eyes turning a fiery red.

“You’re _really_ gonna regret that.”

* * *

Switching back to his human form was difficult. It would be easy to just stay a snake. He could bury his mind and let the serpent take over. Serpents didn’t have to worry about things like grief. They only had to eat and sleep, maybe find a lady snake and make little snake babies if they had to. No pesky emotions, just living.

But of course he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Crowley had promised, he wasn’t going to let Azira – this – he wouldn’t let the demon hurt anyone. 

The minute he saw…the demon…start losing control, he could tell something was different. He had started unzipping from his physical form. The power rolling of him was something he’d never felt from the angel, at least he didn’t think so. Crowley had reacted on instinct and leapt at him, transforming into a snake on impact and incapacitating him.

When he was more sure than not that the demon was calm, Crowley uncoiled and shifted back to his human form.

“Ah fuck,” he hissed and double over in pain. Long gashes ran from the side of his neck and down across his chest, bleeding sluggishly. He snapped but nothing happened. 

Crowley glared and tried again, still nothing. He haphazardly snapped at his glasses on the floor and they appeared whole on his face. So it wasn’t his magic, it was the wounds themselves. Crowley touched a hand tenderly to his neck and pulled away. The blood wasn’t red, it was black.

His horrified stare turned to…the demon who still lay on the floor, simply looking at him. Crowley quickly turned away. Looking at him hurt. It was just too much. It felt like looking at some imposter wearing his angel’s skin, perverting it from inside. Even when his hair had gone grey, and his eyes inverted and turned orange. Even with the black hands and wings, with the claws, he had been able to see his angel inside. He could see that glow. That halo.

Now that glow was gone. Replaced with a shadow.

And that halo replaced with large black horns that curved up from his forehead and back around his ears.

One last defilement to prove his angel was gone.

Crowley took a deep breath and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He wouldn’t be able to do this if he kept thinking about the angel. About how much he – well he couldn’t think about any of it. Not if he was going to get through this in one piece. So Crowley set his jaw and willfully tried to shove everything he felt for the no-longer-angel deep deep down within himself and lock it away. When he turned back he was almost able to convince himself that the demon was a stranger. Almost. 

“Can you…understand me?”

He continued to stare.

“Right. Ok um…_fuck_ this hurts,” Crowley grimaced. He staggered, bracing himself against what used to be their bed. 

The demon on the floor didn’t move, but a crease formed between his brows. Crowley waved a hand at him.

“It’s fine, I’ll handle it. _Pssh_ it’s fine, sure, like a demon cares,” he mumbled half to himself. Crowley gathered himself and stood up straight. 

“Ok…you. No clue what you did but, I can’t heal this. And the cottage is a crater so we need to leave and get somewhere I can fix myself up. And get you…clothed cause fuck you’re naked huh? How did I not – whatever, can you stand?”

The demon’s brow furrowed further, whether with confusion or anger Crowley couldn’t guess. Crowley bent his knees slightly and mimed with his hands like he was lifting something.

“Up? Can you get up?”

The demon snorted (irritation or humor?) and slowly pushed himself to standing, his arms spread out from his body slightly to help balance him. Crowley swallowed. He couldn’t help it. There was something magnificent about the demon in front of him. His massive wings were fully filled in with pitch black feathers, shining dark purple and blue like bruises in the moonlight. His eyes glowed orange and predatory in the dark. The claws were vicious, the horns powerful. And Crowley hated how his instincts betrayed him. He hated how his pulse quickened, how his mouth ran dry. He hated this demon. 

“Well we can’t go anywhere with you like…can you put your wings away? You know like this.”

Crowley unfurled his own wings and then folded them back away. The demon’s eyebrows raised. He set his feet and shrugged with a look of concentration. With a stutter of the air, his wings disappeared. As did the horns.

“Oh! Well that – that works. They share a pocket dimens – that – that’s good.”

Was it worse that he looked more like he did before? Crowley couldn’t decide.

“Alright ang – you. Let’s go.”

Crowley stalked off. He didn’t risk a look back until he got to the Bentley and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when he saw the demon slowly following. He was walking like a drunk desperately trying to pass for sober. When he finally made it to Crowley, he bent and rest his hands on his knees. A low rumble filled the air and his horns flickered in and out of sight.

“Ok hey! Hey easy it’s fine! It’s – it’ll take some getting used to ok? Deep breaths come on.” Without thinking, Crowley grabbed one of the demon’s clawed hands and placed it on his own chest. The demon yelped at the contact and snatched his hand back. His wide eyes roved over Crowley, searching and confused.

Crowley’s empty hands were frozen in front of him. “That was stupid. That was – I’m so – I shouldn’t have – I used to – but you’re not – it’s fine ok let’s go.”

He all but leapt into the driver’s seat and reached across to open the passenger door for the demon, who clambered in and sniffed curiously at the air. The car roared to life and hurtled into the night. As they drove, Crowley silently asked the Bentley to do most of the driving as he couldn’t stop glancing to his side. The demon looked remarkably uncomfortable; his face scrunched in what could have been confusion. The car picked up speed and the demon pushed itself back into the seat, eyes wide and breaths coming out in shallow huffs.

“Look it’s fine, it’s fine I do this all the time. This is all totally normal,” Crowley reassured.

The demon squeezed his eyes shut as they peeled around a corner and onto a dark road with heavy trees that blotted out what little light the moon and stars provided. His hands flexed and his claws dug into the leather seat he sat on. The soft tearing sound echoed in Crowley’s ears and he was blindsided by rage.

“I SWEAR TO SOMEONE AZIRAPHALE IF YOU FUCKING DESTROY THIS CAR I’LL _AARGH_ – “

Crowley snarled in pain as black claws dug into his thigh. His fangs slid down and he bared his teeth at the demon next to him, whose face was a confused mix of fury and fear.

“Is…that my…name?”

Crowley slammed down on the brakes. The demon’s voice was hoarse from screaming, but it sounded like – no he couldn’t think like that. Instead he hissed at him with bared fangs.

“Let. Go.”

The demon’s hand tightened its grip and Crowley grimaced.

“Is that. My name?”

“_NO_.” Crowley glared through the pain, physical and otherwise. “No that’s not your name.”

“Then…why – “

“It was a mistake. I got confused, won’t happen again.”

“Confused?”

“Fucking – _yes_ confused. That was your name. It’s not anymore. Not – not right now.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Crowley sneered. “Now let me the fuck go.”

The demon blinked and looked at his hand dug into Crowley’s leg like he was just noticing it. He yanked his hand away and black blood welled. Crowley grit his teeth through the pain. The demon shivered and balled his hands into fists in his lap.

“I hurt,” he breathed.

“Yeah I bet, been a lot – “

“You.”

Crowley’s mouth snapped shut and he took his eyes off the road to fully look at him. The demon still had that scrunched up look on his face.

“What?”

“I hurt you.”

“Yes.”

“Before too.”

“Yeah, congrats, want a medal?”

The demon’s expression was agitated confusion.

“Why…aren’t you hurting _me_?”

“_What?!_”

The demon flinched. “I…I can smell your anger. You want to. Why haven’t you?”

Crowley’s grip on the steering wheel was making the plastic creak.

“I’m not – it’s not you I’m – you don’t just – “

Something shifted in the demon’s gaze. He leaned towards Crowley and his mouth quirked in a small smile that was so familiar it felt like seeing a ghost.

“Why don’t you just do it?” the demon purred. “I know you want to. It’ll feel good.” 

The demon reached back over and raked his claws along Crowley’s thigh, tugging at the torn fabric. Crowley’s breath hitched.

“It felt good when I hurt you. Tit for tat, go on,” the demon grinned, though it seemed more like a wolf bearing its teeth. “Or at least, you can try.”

Something fluttered in Crowley’s stomach but he chose to ignore it in favor of leaning towards the demon and mirroring the predatory grin.

“Don’t tempt me darling, I’m far more experienced than you.” Crowley wrangled his anger down and took a shaking breath. “But for the record, we don’t hurt people just because it feels good. That’s not what we do.”

The demon frowned and sat back. “But…we’re demons.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Yes we are.”

The demon shuddered and dropped his head into his hands.

“I don’t – I don’t understand I – I don’t like this.”

An echo from months ago of an angel saying the same flit through Crowley’s mind. He blinked back the sudden pinprick of tears. The demon bolted upright and turned to stare at him.

“You’re so _sad_.” Distress was etched across the demon’s face. 

“That shouldn’t bother you.”

“No I – it – _fuck_,” the demon growled and his horns once again flickered into the physical plane. He banged a fist into the dashboard and it gave beneath the force.

“HEY! Hey easy!”

“I can’t – I keep remembering that I’m…_missing_. Something’s missing and – and I know sad is good but yours isn’t I don’t – _what am I missing?!_”

The car rocked and the wind picked up outside. In a flash Crowley leapt into the passenger seat and straddled the demon, gripping his arms and pinning them down to his sides. The demon growled in his face and his hot breath buffeted Crowley’s hair.

“_Enough_,” Crowley was amazed to find his voice was firm and unyielding. “We can’t keep fucking doing this you need to _calm down_. Do what I do.”

Once again, Crowley closed his eyes and demonstrated breathing in deep, then breathing out slowly. The demon continued to growl at Crowley, who continued on until finally, begrudgingly, the demon followed suit. Slowly, the Bentley stilled and calm filled the car. Crowley cracked his eyes open to find the demon’s eyes searching his own.

It was only then that Crowley realized he was sitting on the demon’s fully naked lap and he felt his cheeks blush. The demon breathed and coughed in surprise. His eyes widened.

“You feel – “

“_Not another word_,” Crowley hissed. The demon’s nose scrunched.

“Who the hell _are_ you?” The demon gently, as if afraid, touched his forehead and traced around where his horns emerged. “Who am _I_?” He whispered, barely audible.

Crowley grimaced and climbed off his lap and back into the driver’s seat. He pointedly looked away as he started the car again.

“I’m Crowley. You’re…you’re Zira.”

Something flashed across Zira’s face and was gone in an instant. He nodded and looked out the passenger window as the Bentley shot off into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok all firstly I am SO SORRY this took so long to get to you. Work basically kidnapped me from last Friday until today so I've had absolutely zero time to sit down and write. It has sucked. But good news is I think it was just a hell week so I should be back on schedule now! I really appreciate your patience everyone:)
> 
> Secondly, meet Zira! He has...impulse problems. 
> 
> And as always, thank you for the kudos and comments you all are the best please keep em coming<3


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